


I'm the One Who Gripped You Tight To Screw Over the Other Guys

by HigherMagic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Cerberus!Castiel, Apocalypse, Demon!Dean, F/M, M/M, Pre-Slash, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Torture, Vessel Fic, dub-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-04
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:13:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 62,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean had no idea what had raised him from Hell, but nothing could have prepared him for the tri-polar Guardian of Hell. But, with the end of the world on the Winchesters' backs, Castiel taking it upon himself to be the Winchesters' personal guard dog might just be the least of their troubles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They didn't know what it was that had raised Dean from Hell. So, they did what any sane, logical person would do. They built a veritable A-bomb of sigils in an old barn, summoned the damned thing, and hoped.

They knew its name. Castiel. But that was pretty much it – the thing was fuck-powerful, he assumed, and Dean hoped that that didn't mean all this would be ineffective because if there's one thing he hated, it was finding that actually the super-powerful creature they'd just jerked the choke chain on was actually still super-powerful, and now it was pissed.

He clutched the demon killing knife a little tighter in his hand, holding the sawed-off in the other.

It was deathly silent.

Dean (though he won't admit it) jumped when the sheets of corrugated aluminum on the roof started banging around, driven up and down by a high wind. Bobby looked over at him with wide, determined eyes.

"Wishful thinking," Dean said, "but maybe it's just the wind." Because nothing else was happening. The wind came, and then it -.

"Shit," Dean cursed as the lights started to blow out, one by one. Then the doors swung open, revealing a solitary figure.

So far as supernatural creatures go, it was pretty on-par, though a little showier than what Dean was used to. The creature didn't enter, which lent credence to the sigils being able to repel it. Dean raised his gun towards the creature, squinting because the light outside and lack of it inside was silhouetting the creature (man?) and he couldn't see its face.

"Are you Castiel?" he called, not really sure what else to do. This wasn't how it usually went down. Someone should be throwing blows or something.

The creature raised its head and started walking into the barn. Without thinking Dean raised his gun and shot it square in the chest. Nothing. Bobby added a couple of his rounds for good measure, but it still had no visible effect.

Dean dropped the gun full of salt rounds, clutching the knife tighter in his other hand instead, and the creature halted, cocking its head to one side and examining the table full of the ingredients for the summoning ritual, the open books of incantations…It moved his gaze around, taking in the sigils painted on the wall and the floor.

"Your Tibetan Djinni sigil for repulsion is incorrect," it said.

Bobby was moving around behind the anonymous being, and Dean caught his eye, nodding. Bobby brought down the crowbar and the creature caught it without looking, turning around and fixing Bobby with a steely blue gaze.

It sighed, and pressed two fingers to Bobby's head. The man collapsed.

"Woah, what the hell?" Dean said, trying to make his voice stronger than he felt and he knew he'd failed. He ran forward and knelt by Bobby, feeling for a pulse.

"Your friend is alive," the creature said, sounding bored as it moved back over to the table, flicking through a book nonchalantly.

Dean looked up towards the creature – Castiel? – he decided to call the thing that, just for lack of anything else. He stood up. "What did you do to him?" he demanded, gesturing towards the prone form of his mentor.

The creature rolled its eyes, spreading its arms out in the international gesture of surrender. "Alright, listen, fact of the matter is -." It paused, looking over at Dean, and it smirked. _"Damn_ , I'm good."

Dean blinked, taken aback by the sudden one-eighty. "What?" he asked, feeling like they'd just skipped three conversations in one sentence.

"Remaking you," Castiel replied, cocking his – for the form he'd taken was decidedly male – head the other way, eyes flashing in pleasure, smile widening. "I did a _good_ job. _Damn_ , boy, you got all the good genes in the family, didn't you?" Dean blanched at that, grimacing in embarrassment – he felt like Castiel was violating him with his eyes. "I could just eat you all up," the thing purred.

"You're not…going to, are you?" What? It was a legitimate supernatural concern. It was up there on the checklist of determining if it was friendly.

Castiel smirked, and made a low sound in the back of his throat. It reminded Dean of a purring jungle cat, and he shivered, taking a step away and regarding Castiel with a wary eye. Dean shifted the knife in his hand, just slightly. Castiel didn't seem to notice.

"So…what are you?" Dean asked, taking a step forward so he was in range to stab the thing (because you could never be too careful).

Castiel pursed his lips, nodding his head. "A little of column A, a little of column no-one knows." He grinned, shrugging. "I, ah, guess I had to take this form now 'cause of the little mishap earlier, trying to contact you."

"That…in the gas station?" Castiel gave a little sheepish smile. "That was you _talking_?" The thing shrugged. "Dude, next time, lower the volume," Dean said, taking another step forward, holding the knife tightly in his hand. "And Pamela?"

Castiel tutted. "I did warn her," he said with a shrug. "No human is meant to perceive my true visage."

"So…what 'visage' is this?" Dean asked, gesturing towards Castiel. "And what the _fuck are_ you?"

Castiel took a look at himself. The body he'd chosen had been middle aged, once, but he'd observed enough of the world to know that the younger and prettier you looked, the easier it was to really get others to do what he wanted. And he liked getting others to do what he wanted, with their brains all muddled with hormones and pheromones. So he'd chosen a vessel that suited the job and just tweaked it a little.

Jimmy Novak had been a handsome man, and Castiel had just changed him a little. There was no stubble on his jaw, less wrinkles around his eyes – he still had smile lines, though they were less pronounced, and his lips were less chapped and pale. He'd gotten rid of the more unnecessary _human_ parts of him too, so his skin was smooth and flawless, pale and creamy.

He'd also dressed him a little differently, with clothes that showed off the man's lithe body, tight black jeans and leather on pretty much every surface he could get away with. There was a chain hanging from his belt that dipped down past his thigh and wrapped around to attach to the knee of his tight black jeans. He was dressed almost entirely in black and it made the bright blue of his vessel's eyes even more vibrant, and they glowed with ethereal light, marking him as not of this world. On the other side of the belt hung a long, thin sword sheathed in black leather and tipped in silver.

"Basically," he explained, arms spread wide in a gesture of goodwill, "you have your bog standard -." He raised his hand to waist level, examined it for a moment, and then moved it to knee height. "Bog standard demon." He flashed white teeth Dean's way, straightening a little. "You have Fallen Angels. Yellow-eyes and all that jazz." He raised his hand to chest level. "Then, you have Angels – they're the dicks trying to jump your pretty white ass."

Dean shuddered at the predatory look that crossed the creature's face, Castiel's blue eyes flashing black. He moved his hand up level with his temple. "Then…you have me."

"And what are you?" Dean asked, throat dry.

The creature smirked, cocking his head to one side, and spread his arms out in a 'Here I Am' gesture. "Oh baby, I'm the world's best back-up plan." He chuckled darkly, a sound that made another small shiver run up Dean's spine, and then he moved towards the table, flicking casually again through the book of incantations. He muttered a few words and the lettering began to change. "You know, some of these phrases are unnecessarily long and repetitive."

"You said something about Angels," Dean said, hesitantly stepping towards Castiel, not knowing what to really make of the situation. Castiel clearly wasn't out to kill Dean (yet) and he seemed weirdly…charming. In that annoying and off-putting kind of way. "Angels don't exist."

"Mm, hate to contradict you, gorgeous, but they do," Castiel replied, biting his thumbnail absently. "Gonna wanna possess you and make you do all sorts of nasty things. Gotta keep sayin' 'No' to them, if I were you."

"Why are you telling me this?" Dean demanded. "What the _hell_ is going on?"

Castiel told him. He told him about Dean breaking in Hell, and what it meant. He told Dean about Michael and Lucifer and how, given half the chance, they'd start the fight to end all fights and the demons and Angels are totally all in on it. Now that the first seal had been broken the rest would fall soon enough.

"Wait…I've started the Apocalypse?" Dean asked, uncomprehending.

"'Fraid so. _But_ not to worry," Castiel said, clapping his hands together and smiling. "Like I said, I'm here to help."

"Who are you, to want to help me?" Dean asked, knowing his voice was shaking but he honestly couldn't make it stop. He swallowed.

Castiel sighed, finally seeming to sober up a little. He closed the book of incantations and, with a snap of his fingers, the sigils on the wall and the spells and ingredients for the ritual disappeared. "Alright, you know the Fall?" Dean swallowed and nodded, still not quite sure if he believed all of this crap. "Well, basically, the Pit is kind of more than just that – the Fallen Angels, see, they went to a specific place and, well, I was kind of meant to be the guardian of it." He winced a little. "Azazel got out, which was totally my bad, by the way – sorry – but now they're trying to get Luci out too, and I kind of like my job and life and he's not gonna look too kindly on me, you get it?"

"You…" Dean swallowed again. "It's _your_ fault Azazel ever…" Anger curled, hot and heavy, inside of his stomach and he took another step forward. "So it's your fault all of this ever happened? Dad's death – Sam's death – my deal? All of it?"

Without waiting for Castiel to respond, Dean brought up the knife, intending to plunge it right into the creature's chest. Castiel snapped his fingers and Dean found himself frozen, the tip just pricking Castiel's clothes.

"Only if I get to fork you later, big boy," the thing purred, and Dean flinched away from the knife, dropping it, suddenly able to move. He was caught between staring incredulously and glaring hatefully at Castiel as he took the knife from midair, examining it curiously.

"Mine's bigger," Castiel said, grinning and tapping the sword at his side, before he snapped his fingers again and the knife disappeared.

Dean growled. "Get the hell away from me, Castiel," he snapped, turning his back on the thing and going over to Bobby, intent on putting as much distance as he could between himself and the thing. He hauled his mentor up, slinging one of Bobby's arms over his shoulders and began to carry him, slowly, out.

"Look," Castiel said, hurriedly following on behind Dean. He waved his hand and the sigils disappeared from the walls and floor, so it looked as though Dean and Bobby had never been there. "I know we don't really have a good track record here, and I'm willing to accept responsibility for that, but I'd like to start afresh, if I can."

"I have nothing to say to you," Dean gritted out. Jesus, Bobby needed to lose some weight. Just as he thought that, it seemed that the weight of the older man completely disappeared from his shoulders, and Dean looked to find that Castiel lightly touched a finger to one of Bobby's elbows, which apparently was the equivalent of lifting him full-bodily. "What do you want from me?"

Castiel rolled his eyes. "Well, a little gratitude might be in order. I _am_ the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."

Dean blinked over at him. He hadn't thought about that. "Fat lot of good it did, if you were too late," he bit out. Castiel pressed his lips together and said nothing. "And if you were the one who let Yellow-eyes out, it was your fault I had to ever go there so…"

The creature sighed, folding his arms across his chest. Bobby's weight returned to Dean's shoulders and the hunter stumbled for a moment before Castiel seemed to remember that he had been helping, and again touched a finger to Bobby's clothes, lifting his weight.

"You really are a very stubborn creature," Castiel muttered.

Dean smirked. "Winchester trait."

"Hmm." Castiel helped Dean haul Bobby into the Impala. The man gave a soft groan when Dean put him down, signaling he would wake up soon. "A few hours," Castiel said, as though reading Dean's thoughts. "I didn't spell him for very long. Now." He clapped his hands together, drawing Dean's attention, and smiled. "Sam, next, right?"

Dean paused, not liking how much this creature knew about him already – not liking that he knew Sam's name, and likely his whereabouts too. Castiel was a wild card and Dean hated wild cards. "Why are you doing all this?" he demanded, wanting answers.

Castiel's eyes flashed, his patience obviously running short. "Maybe I'm one of the few supernatural creatures who doesn't want to change, kill, torture, trap, enslave, chase, hunt, lie to or trick you," he snapped, rolling his bright blue eyes. "Hard to believe, I know, but it's true. I don't even want to take a bite out of you, though I wouldn't be opposed to having some part of you in my mouth eventually." He smirked.

Dean swallowed and did his best to ignore that last part. "So you just expect to waltz in here, claiming that you brought me from Hell, with the light show and all these fancy scare tactics, blind Pamela and almost deafen me _twice,_ after leaving me in a hole, might I add,and you _knock out_ Bobby with nothing more than a touch, you start talking about shit that's from an old book that frankly I've never believed in that much, _Angels_ , the _Apocalypse_ , and I'm meant to just believe you?" Dean shook his head, derision heavy in his voice. "Sorry, buddy, but I'm not buyin' what you're sellin'."

For a split second, there was nothing, and then Castiel's eyes darkened. He snarled, and the sound was inhuman and Dean felt himself take a step back instinctively, until he felt the cold body of his car against his back. "You want me to prove myself?" the creature asked, taking a step towards Dean. His eyes were lit with azure fire, hot and chilling at the same time and Dean felt himself start to shake.

Within another step Castiel had Dean pinned up against the side of the car. He bared teeth that were sharp and serrated but in a flash they were gone. "You cannot fathom the depth of my power, Dean," he whispered, bracing a hand on one side of Dean, on the car. "I have seen more than you could ever hope to imagine – more than your entire species could ever hope to imagine, and yet I have sworn, with my blade and my blood, to protect you, and to guard you from those who would want to do you harm."

For the briefest moment, his eyes flashed black. Another snarl rolled from deep in his gut.

"I raised you from _Hell_ , you ungrateful _boy,"_ he hissed, pressing closer, and Dean's eyes widened, his heart spiking in fear, but he couldn't move away. He was pinned by Castiel's gaze and the power in his voice. "I fought against the armies of the Damned and the Blessed. I am second only to God and Death himself."

Slowly, never taking his eyes off of Dean, Castiel drew his sword. It came free of its casing with a high-pitched ringing sound, and Dean shuddered, seeing the blade. It was long and thin, but he could feel the power radiating off it, and it glowed with a dark blue-golden light.

He pushed himself away from the car, taking a step away from Dean, and laid the tip of the sword against the hollow of the human's throat. "So," he growled, his eyes flashing black once more, "you will show me," he flicked the tip up, and Dean winced when it nicked his skin and pressed under his chin, forcing his head up and his throat to be bared, "some respect."

Lightning flashed above them in the open air and Dean flinched, looking up to the sky. Dark storm clouds were gathering and thunder rumbled over them not two seconds later. Dean didn't know if it was Castiel trying to scare him or if it was just a by-product of his presence, like demons, or what, but it was scaring the living shit out of him.

The lightning flashed again and Castiel's silhouette was cast onto the wall of the barn. Only it wasn't human – not even close. Four huge wings were extending, flaring out high over Castiel's head. The bottom pair looked like an eagle's, huge black shadows with indefinite edges, bristling with feathers. The higher pair was like that of a bat or dragon – huge, taloned things that were too big to fit on the wall, and extended out into the darkness on either side. They were joined to the body of a great beast, and if Dean didn't know any better he'd say _serpent_. Three long, dragon-like necks rose out from the giant body, weaving and ducking their heads, which had the shape of dogs – Rottweiler's, or pit bulls.

 _Hydra_ , Dean's mind supplied him with. His eyes widened and he somehow managed to tear his eyes away from the shadow to Castiel's face. The creature's eyes were glowing a dark, fiery blue. _Cerberus. Guardian of the Gates of Hell._

Then, the lightning and thunder stopped and Castiel lowered his sword, but didn't sheathe it. The silence between them was absolute – Dean couldn't even hear his own breathing. Just a heartbeat, steady and slow like the beat of the world.

"Good things do happen, Dean," Castiel whispered, his voice softer now, and he sheathed his sword with a smooth push. The sound of it clicking back into place was like a guillotine, and Dean shivered at that. His entire body felt hot and cold at the same time, like he was coming down with a fever. "You're right. though," Castiel continued, fixing Dean against with his bright blue eyes, that were softer now – more like a lake and less like a stormy ocean. "I could have just left you in Hell to rot. After all, you're no use now, right? You've broken…so now it's just time for others to clean up the mess."

Dean flinched, knowing that Castiel knew exactly what he was saying – knew it would get a rise out of the Hunter.

"You don't think you deserve to be saved," the creature whispered, cocking his head to one side with a slight furrow in his brow. Then his expression smoothed out and Castiel stepped closer, the heat of his body a pleasant contrast to the chill of the car and the night air. "But we're both here now, so let's say we stop behaving like children in a sandbox and get something done, hmm?"

Dean swallowed, his eyes wide, and nodded. "Okay," he whispered, at a loss of what else to say. The image of Castiel's silhouette was still burned into his mind and he couldn't shake it off. He was standing in front of something he'd never seen before – something unfathomably powerful, and he couldn't say a single thing.

Castiel nodded, smiling, and stepped away. "Good," he said, clapping his hands together, and then moved to the passenger seat of the car. "Let's go."

With the gaze broken, it was like Castiel's influence snapped from Dean – the Hunter felt more like himself again when not the focus of that powerful blue gaze. "Wait," he asked, frowning and turning around to look at Castiel from the other side of the car, "you're coming with me?"

Castiel smirked, raising a brow. "If you think you can last as long as I can," he replied with a leer, and Dean felt himself grimace, blushing at the line. That…would take a little getting used to, if Castiel continually made innuendoes out of everything he said. "Now come on, we're running out of moonlight."

"Can't you teleport?" Dean asked, deciding to let that go for now and getting into the Impala, slamming his door shut behind him. Castiel merely appeared there without bothering with the door. "Or…fly?" Dean swallowed, a small, involuntary shudder running up and down his spine when he remembered the giant silhouette of Castiel's great body against the barn wall, his wings unfurling, powerful and magnificent, out to his sides.

Castiel chuckled, sprawling out on his side of the car. His 'vessel' wasn't particularly tall, but he took up enough room in the Impala to rival Sam – one arm, he slung over the bench seat and Dean felt himself tense when Castiel's long, pale fingers settled uncomfortably close to his neck. He propped his other elbow up against the window, using that hand to support his head – he slouched lazily in the seat, his tight clothing stretching over his body and leaving very little to the imagination. It took more willpower than Dean thought he had to avoid letting his gaze wander.

"I can fly," Castiel murmured, lips pursing in thought as he looked out of the windshield, waiting patiently for Dean to start the car, which the Hunter did, pulling away from the barn and out onto the farm road, towards the highway. "But it is very tiring, and my back sustained a lot of damage when I took you out of Hell." He paused again, tilting his head the other way. "It hurts, but I shall recover quickly."

"You don't look hurt," Dean noted. And it was true – Castiel looked totally unruffled, aside from his naturally disheveled hair and, now that he was closer and could see, there were dark circles under his eyes. Nothing too noticeable but they were there.

Castiel smirked, flashing bright blue eyes towards Dean and baring his teeth a little. The fingers on the back of the seat trailed lightly across Dean's neck, one nail lightly scraping over the flexing tendon in Dean's neck, and the Hunter flinched, sitting forward so Castiel stopped touching him. "Aww, Dean, you worried about me?"

Dean growled at Castiel. "Shut up, and keep your Goddamn hands to yourself," he snapped, glaring with as much anger and vehemence as he could towards the creature.

Castiel laughed, but it was lost in a low, rough sound as he let his head fall back over the seat. His arm moved back to his side, much to Dean's relief, but that was only so that Castiel could map the smooth, flat plane of his chest, down his stomach in a teasing touch that had Dean's eyes widening, watching out of the corner of his eye and trying to watch that and the road at the same time.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, more than a little uncomfortable.

Castiel chuckled again, eyes half-lidded. "You're pretty when you get all ruffled and demanding like that," he purred, flashing white teeth again and Dean shivered, watching the black shadow flare in Castiel's eyes. "So…appealing, like a caged animal," the creature continued, leaning closer to Dean so that the Hunter could feel the extreme heat pouring off of Castiel's leather-encased body. "They tried to tame you, to break you down, but you've still got plenty of bite to that pretty mouth, don't you?"

Dean felt like he was frozen, unable to speak, to _breathe_ , until he felt Castiel's warm hand slide across his thigh and he slammed down on the Impala's breaks, pulling off the road. He flinched away from Castiel's touch, one hand fumbling with the handle to the Impala door but with a snap of the creature's fingers, the doors were locked and Dean had no escape.

The Hunter stilled, his breathing heavy, eyes wide, heart beating fast, and Castiel graced him with a smile that would unnerve the Devil. He moved to his hands and knees on the Impala seat, crawling forward until he was kneeling next to Dean, the Hunter unable to do anything but watch and raise an arm in a meek kind of defense.

Bright blue eyes searched Dean's face, the creature's expression softening, just a little. He reached forward, cupping Dean's cheek and the Hunter shied away, trying to turn his head, to escape, but there was nowhere to go. "Shh," Castiel murmured, leaning in to gently nose along the rise of Dean's cheekbone. His other hand flattened itself over Dean's rapidly beating heart. "Let go of your fear."

"I don't -." Dean was cut off as Bobby groaned lightly in the backseat, and the Hunter felt himself flush because he'd forgotten entirely that the older Hunter was still back there. He cleared his throat, turning away from Castiel and the creature let him go, and Dean shifted the Impala back into gear and onto the road. "Should probably get him home."

Castiel nodded, settling back into place in the passenger seat, and started humming a song that Dean didn't recognize, but would later come to be known as Katy Perry's 'E.T.'. He thought it was suiting.

Dean remained silent for a long while – it took a surprising amount of time for his heartbeat and body temperature to return to normal levels, which of course amused Castiel to no end. He decided quickly that he liked the 'ruffled feathers' look on Dean – it was adorable.

He could sense the Hunter wanting to ask him something – Dean's gaze kept flashing over to him, those green eyes lighting up in the glow of overhead orange highway lights.

Castiel didn't press – in a sadistic kind of way, he enjoyed watching the Hunter get all twisted up inside over the desire to speak whatever was on his mind warring with the knowledge that he probably didn't want to know the answers, or that Castiel would probably give some kind of nonsensical, dirty answer that left him squirming and unsatisfied. He smirked at his own thoughts.

"So there is a God," Dean said, finally, after many miles of open road and nothing but Castiel's occasional humming. The creature nodded. "And…the Devil? All that kind of stuff?" Again, Castiel nodded, and Dean's fingers went white around the wheel. "I don't…I don't know if I can believe that."

He said it like he expected to get smote, or perhaps for Castiel to go all bad-ass and silhouetted-monster-y on him again, and blinked, body relaxing slightly when Castiel threw back his head in a laugh – a full, not-dark-not-chuckle kind of laugh that made all sorts of warmth spread throughout Dean's chest.

"This is your problem, Dean," Castiel said, with a soft sigh and a shake of his head, "you have no faith." He raised a hand, pressing two fingers to Dean's lips before Dean could protest. "I understand, though, why you don't." He turned his head to watch Dean watching him, the Hunter's attention completely on the strange, terrifying creature in his passenger seat, but the Impala never deviated from the centre of her lane, kept there by Castiel's influence as the creature slid forward across the seat. Bobby's quiet groans and snores, too, fell silent. Dean seemed unable to stop himself letting Castiel in, when the creature's fingers dipped just slightly, pressing against his lower lip, and then pushing into the warm wetness of Dean's mouth. A small shiver ran through Castiel, and there was the sound of feathers rustling. "You are a creature of fact, of truth," he whispered, blue eyes burning with azure flame as he slid ever closer, and Dean didn't pull away – _couldn't_ pull away. If Hell was the magma underneath the Earth's surface, then Castiel was the iron core – he was magnetic. "You have never needed faith because you have never been faced with something that you couldn't prove – it is a blessing, and a curse, but you go off of eye-witnesses. You trust that the person you are interviewing or the incantation you are translating is correct, that the words won't lie. Or you trust yourselves enough to know what is farce and what is not."

The cold metal of the handle of Castiel's sword pressed up against Dean's side, forcing the Hunter out of whatever daze he'd managed to sink into, and he flinched away, spitting Castiel's fingers from his mouth with a disgusted, embarrassed, _wanting_ sound.

He shied away again when Castiel was suddenly on him, the slim, lithe creature easily snaking himself into the tight confines of the Impala front seat, his slim thighs falling on either side of Dean's legs, his shoulders hunched up above the Hunter. Somehow, even though the space was far too small, Castiel had managed to draw his sword made of glowing blue light and pressed the sharp side of it against Dean's throat.

His eyes flashed black and Dean's eyes widened. Something inside of him – something dark and not altogether human – flared at the sight, the demon-black eyes. He snarled, his hands finding Castiel's thighs and gripping tight enough to hurt a human. He pressed forward, into the soft, almost-absent cut of the incredibly sharp sword and the Impala's air became saturated with the scent of blood.

"Do you trust the Master to hold the blade at bay?" Castiel whispered, leaning forward, his eyes still that unnatural black color and Dean felt himself begin to tremble at the raw _power_ in Castiel's voice. He sucked in a breath, able to feel the soft rasp of steel, or something so much stronger than steel, against his neck, and without thinking he tilted his head back, letting Castiel lean forward and mouth at the small cut across his throat. "Do you trust, Dean Winchester, if you have no faith?"

Dean swallowed, his hands gentling, just slightly, and he closed his eyes. "Not even a little," he replied, soft but strong – at this point, he wasn't even sure he trusted Sam.

Castiel dark laughter curled around him like bar smoke and warm whiskey. He sheathed his sword and, with a gentle touch, pulled Dean's head up to meet his eyes. His lips were reddened and shining with his blood. He leaned forward, his eyes shifting back to blue with a flutter of his dark lashes, and pressed his lips to Dean's.

It seemed like all of Dean's senses blacked out, like they had when Castiel had shown the silhouetted of his true form against the barn. The taste of his blood, of his mouth, and the low roar of the Impala were the only things he was aware of. And the heat of Castiel's body, thrumming with the pistoning of the engine beneath them.

His eyes fluttered to half-mast, his entire body stiffening as though he had been struck by lightning and hit with a wrecking ball at the same time. Castiel was… _absolute_. He was terrifying – the feel of him, of such an intimate action, made it seem like he was too close, far too close.

The creature bit at Dean's lower lip, eyes heavy-lidded as he carefully tilted Dean's head to the angle he desired, and Dean couldn't do a damn thing but go with it, opening his mouth to the probing caress of Castiel's borrowed tongue. He tasted like blood and ash, a taste Dean had become all too intimate with in Hell and it made his heart jump-start in his chest, his breathing hitching, his grip finding Castiel's body and holding on tightly.

Castiel jolted, making a wounded sound, and Dean pulled away, looking up into the creature's wide, somewhat-human-again eyes. Castiel had pressed his lips together from the pain, turning his face away as he braced his hands against the Impala seat, trying to get control of himself. Cautiously, unsure what he had done, Dean pressed again, his palms flattening over the slight rise of Castiel's spine.

It was wet. His palms came back stained with red.

"What…?" He flashed bright, worried eyes back up at Castiel, who swallowed. It was then Dean noticed that the scent of blood in the car wasn't just his own – Castiel had been bleeding for a while now. The passenger seat was lightly stained.

"I told you," the creature whispered in reply, his eyes gone soft, "that I was injured. But it is no matter." He cocked his head the other way, flashing a smile, and stroked a hand down Dean's face. "You're so adorable when you're worried."

Instinctively Dean batted his hand away, a scowl on his face. "Stop it," he growled, angry and uncomfortable – Castiel was making him feel things, dark things that he had attempted to keep good and buried since Hell, short a time as that was, and this dark, powerful creature being around him…wasn't good for his sanity. Or, apparently, his virtue.

He shoved at Castiel and the creature went with a sigh, dipping his head so that he rested on Dean's shoulder, and he sat close against the Hunter, allowing the Impala to once again respond to Dean's driving. The sword, despite feeling solid enough when it dipped into the soft skin of Dean's neck, just slid right through the Impala seat as though it didn't exist – Dean got a feeling that Castiel to his sword was like a Tetragrammaton Cleric to his gun.

"How long will it take?" Dean asked, throat dry, voice raspy, and Castiel made a sleepy sound, blinking open lazy eyes to look up at Dean. "For you to heal up?" He cleared his throat, worrying the inseam of the leather with his damp thumbs. "You know," he amended, forcing a carefree smile, "so you can get back to doing whatever the hell you're meant to be doing up here."

"Like you?" Castiel asked without a pause, making Dean stiffen, and the creature chuckled, shifting again, this time resting his head on Dean's thigh. The action was so casually child-like that Dean didn't even think about preventing it until it was too late. "A couple of days, maybe more. Depends."

"On what?" Dean snapped.

Castiel bared his teeth in a smile. "On how fast you work."


	2.  I'm The One Who Gripped You Tight To Screw Over The Other Guys (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  Dean didn't know what had raised him from Hell. It could have been anything powerful enough – demons, Hunters…maybe Sam had made a deal for him. What he  _hadn't_ expected was…Castiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Bobby reacted to the incarnation of the giant three-headed guardian of Hell the way one might react to their brother-in-law suddenly stopping by on a Sunday afternoon with family in tow as though they were expected for dinner – that is, he huffed, muttered something under his breath and sat back while someone else more equipped to deal with the situation stepped up. Granted, he was still a little woozy from being knocked out by Castiel's magic, but other than that he was taking on the 'strong, watchful' type and Dean was kind of at a loss of what else to do – until Castiel got better from his apparent wound, they couldn't go after Sam, and until Bobby decided to do whatever the Hell he was deciding to do, it was just Dean alone with Castiel.

Which, well, Dean would just rather have avoided, but the poor guy was just sitting outside, not even welcome in Bobby's house because _apparently_ something they missed off the barn walls was very well keeping him out of Bobby's house – Dean wasn't sure what it was but he made a mental note to ask.

Castiel was perched on one of the stacks of cars, looking out towards the driveway that led to the two-lane highway into town. He didn't move as Dean climbed up the stack and sat next to him, a careful distance away. His shadow from the moon above cast the same shape Dean had seen on the bard wall – giant wings arched out over the both of them and towards the house, like he was protecting it, and his three heads were weaving restlessly between the large expanses of the wings. As Dean watched, the center head turned to one side so that Dean could see the silhouette of a great maw opening, exposing long and jagged, backward-facing teeth, as Castiel pressed the back of his hand to his mouth and yawned wide.

His other hand was wrapped around his middle, legs pulled up almost to his chest and feet resting on the fender of the car. Were it not for his shadow and his glowing blue eyes Dean wouldn't be able to tell him apart from just another kid lost and wandering the town at night.

"I don't remember you," Dean said by way of an ice-breaker, earning a flash of blue from the corner of Castiel's eye and a slight smile. "I remember everything else about Hell, but not you."

The creature huffed a laugh, his breath misting in the chilly air and his first hand mirrored the other one, wrapping tight around his stomach and his nails digging into the tight leather, pulling it across his back. The wet stain of blood glistened under the light of the moon. "Figures," Castiel said, "that you'd forget the best part."

"How did it happen?" Dean couldn't help himself – he was curious. The last memory he had before waking up in his own coffin was Alistair telling him they had a special surprise in store – that he was going to be rewarded for his 'good behavior'. He swallowed at that memory. Good behavior had been absolutely awful. The things he had done…

Castiel's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "I saw the Angels coming," he whispered, looking up to the night sky. His voice darkened, black flashing in his eyes for the briefest of moments. "All those years and I remember their ice like yesterday." His upper lip curled back in a snarl. "They were coming, and they were coming for you, and I just…I couldn't let them. The things they would make you do, almost worse than demons, Angels. They'll lie through their teeth and call it faith."

"You seem to know a lot about Angels," Dean murmured, unable to speak louder – his throat felt raspy and dry, and it was like all the air had been sucked away from the two of them; tension vibrated through every part of Castiel; anger and resentment seething under the surface and his shadow was flexing its wings, drops of invisible acid falling from his heads as the great mouths opened and snarled with their human counterpart.

Castiel blinked, then turned his head to look at Dean, long enough that the Hunter shifted in place, averting his eyes and uncomfortable at the long look he was given, before the creature sighed softly, breath misting again, and joined the Hunter in looking down at his shadow. "There's three there for a reason," he said, drawing Dean's attention again. "Heaven, Hell…the in between. I belong everywhere." He sighed. "Most of the time."

"Why do you hate them so much?" Dean asked. "Surely, you know, little flying babies and stuff, clouds and hearts and fluffy wings, God's kids, they'd be the good guys, right?"

At that, Castiel laughed – loudly enough that Dean was sure Bobby could hear it inside of the house. "That was funny," he said, sounding almost surprised at having laughed that hard, and bit his lower lip, smiling over briefly at Dean.

Dean had no idea how to equate the thing that had basically been jumping his bones at any available opportunity with this solemn creature telling him his whole life story – almost _distant_ , keeping the space Dean had set between them, and not once had his eyes flashed a different color. He had calmed, the anger abating for now and leaving an almost eerie calm behind that, granted, still sent small shivers up Dean's spine, but for entirely different reasons. Like the calm before the storm.

"If you can't come inside, I'll bring the first-aid kit out to you," he said, remember Castiel's wound, and he wanted to get this shit over and done with as soon as physically possible. He had a lot of questions and he knew Bobby probably would too, but first things came first – healing Castiel up. Until that happened there were basically sitting with their thumbs up their asses apparently waiting for the first guys – demons or Angels – to come callin'.

"I can come inside," Castiel said, pushing himself to his feet and dropping down next to Dean, much to the Hunter's surprise.

"Then why were you sitting out here all this time?" he demanded.

The creature smiled a little, eyes ducking down in a way that was almost _coy_ – which again threw Dean for a loop, he had no idea what to make of that – and pressed his lips together. He looked almost shy when his eyes lifted back to Dean's, paler now, more like the color of the morning sky than the ocean. "To see if you'd join me," he said softly, almost too softly to hear and Dean wouldn't have understood if he hadn't been watching Castiel's mouth move, and then the creature smiled again and turned around, leading the way back inside and leaving Dean to follow, stunned, a few seconds after.

They found Bobby finally snapped out of his silent watching, sitting back in his well-used chair at his desk, several books spread out and opened to different pages. One of the books, the largest by far, one of the biggest Dean knew Bobby owned, was opened in front of him about two thirds of the way through, and on one page, opposite the neat, small black lettering, was a picture of Cerberus, the three-headed guardian of Hell. In the picture giant walls of flame leapt up around the dog, who was standing tall, one head arched high and growling down at a terrified-looking human cowering away, another head gnawing at the bones of another great fallen beast, the third with its mouth open wide in what looked like a scream.

Dean's eyes flashed to Castiel, but it was Bobby who spoke first; "Cerberus," he said, leaning back in the chair and meeting Castiel's unblinking eyes. "I pictured you to be…taller…"

A low rumble filled the room, but Castiel smiled. "This is just a vessel," he said. "My true form is approximately the size of your Chrysler Building."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Tight fit," he noted.

And Castiel rolled his eyes. "You have no idea."

"He's injured himself somehow," Dean said after a moment, breaking the silence as Castiel and Bobby just seemed to stare at each other, like they were weighing each other up and, well, Dean knew now how Castiel tended to react to being threatened or challenged. Already he felt like he could _feel_ the feathers of those second wings bristling and arching high. "Gotta get him fixed up and get this show on the road."

"You know where the kit is," Bobby said by way of reply, leaving Dean to flush slightly and duck his head. He gestured for Castiel to follow him and led the way out of Bobby's main room, down the corridor and into the kitchen, by the door that led to the backyard. He didn't catch the subtle snarl Castiel threw at the Devil's Trap etched into the ceiling of Bobby's main room, or the way he squinted through the doorjambs to the lines of salt and iron encrusted into every threshold.

Dean turned around, found Castiel staring at him again expectantly, arms folded over his chest, weight resting on one leg. His gaze was unblinking, felt like it was seeing everything about Dean – down to his bones, and it made him flush a little, swallowing to wet his dry mouth. "Um." The creature's blue eyes flashed for a moment, up to Dean's face. "Take off your shirt. Gotta take a look at you."

The creature raised an eyebrow, baring his teeth in a lopsided smirk – there he was, there was the thing that was trying to get into Dean's pants every time he turned around. The one-eighty of Castiel's personality was giving him a headache, and for a moment Dean couldn't help but think that maybe this was just how Castiel _was_ – three heads, three planes of existence. Had to give any guy a little bit of a multiple personality disorder.

"Your wish, my command," Castiel murmured in reply, biting down on his lower lip as he pulled at the loose end of his sword belt, unhooking the leather belt and setting his weapon to one side. His fingers then hooked into the hem of his tight-fitting shirt and pulled it over his head in one fluid motion, baring pale skin stretched thin over bones, almost blue in places where the vessel had become cold, and a tan-line around his neck and arms where the skin had been darkened in the past from sunlight.

This wasn't Castiel – this was a man. A human man, or at least something that had been fashioned to look like one. Some poor bastard was trapped in there with a vicious beast and had no way out. Dean swallowed, the image of Hell Hounds flashing in front of his eyes as he stepped towards Castiel, setting the First Aid Kit next to Castiel's sword and gesturing for the creature to turn around. Cerberus – the giant dog, like the Alpha of all those Hounds – must be terrifying in his true form. The shadow alone was enough to have Dean frozen. What must it be like to sleep next to such a dog? To share your head with one? With three?

"What's his name?" Dean asked as he opened the kit, trying to prolong the moment when he would actually have to treat the creature, have to lay his hands on him and no doubt deal with whatever dirty shit Castiel spewed back at him. They might not even make it far enough for Dean to do anything with him and it made the Hunter's shoulders tense, hoping that Castiel could keep control of himself. Dean still had no idea about what to do with something so foreign wanting him so openly – something that was so _absolute_. His lips still tingled from Castiel's kiss, his throat stung from the prick of his blade. His fingers shook at remembering the heat of his body. Castiel hummed at the question. "The poor bastard you're possessing?"

Castiel chuckled again – this time not the light laugh from outside, but the dark, throaty chuckle, in the car, the Hellish side of him more prominent now as he braced his hands against the kitchen counter, locked his arms and arched his back for Dean to see the wound along his spine. "Jimmy Novak – a loyal, faithful man. He actually asked for this." Before Dean could even snort in derision, the creature raised his head, lips pursed as he thought; "Well, not from me, but it's hard to tell from here, isn't it?"

"I don't know what that means," Dean muttered, shrugging the cryptic words off as he finally turned his attention to the blood staining Castiel's back and its cause. He had thought it to be a stab wound, perhaps, or something caused by a blade, a demon's knife, anything like that, but it actually looked more like a burn – a horrible burn that had sliced through Castiel's skin as though someone had branded him, right down until Dean could see the flash of white bone underneath. It looked horrible and Dean had to wonder how Castiel was even moving around with something like that on him.

He reached out gentle fingers, touching the base of Castiel's spine about an inch from where the burn ended, and the creature didn't even tense, let alone flinch – he stayed perfectly still as though waiting for Dean to say something. "How?" the Hunter asked, at a loss of anything else.

"You," Castiel answered, straightening. "I told you there was nothing you could do for me – it will have to heal on its own."

"That'll take weeks! Months, even!" Dean argued, disbelieving that Castiel would simply shrug something like that off. The creature merely lifted one shoulder, huffing out a breath as he moved to pull his shirt back over his head. "No, listen – _stop."_ Dean demanded, reaching out and grabbing Castiel's shoulder to halt him, force him to turn around to face Dean and it was amazing how Castiel just let himself be moved, when Dean knew he could resist the hold and fight back. "Tell me. Please."

"Why the fuck do you care?" Castiel snarled, wrenching his shoulder out of Dean's grip and taking a step back, teeth bared as Dean took a step back too, startled at the creature's sudden outburst. "You don't even remember."

"Apologies for not stopping to admire the scenery while a giant-ass dog pulled me outta Hell," Dean bit back before he could stop himself, finding his own mouth mirroring Castiel's snarl, voice a low growl as Castiel rumbled at him. The creature's eyes were the color of the bottom of the ocean, almost black but not demonic, overtaken with malevolence. They still glowed. "Are you going to let me help you or not?"

"The time will come for that," Castiel replied, voice terse and snappy. "There are so many other things to do first."

"Like what?" Dean demanded. "What aren't you telling me?"

"There's a lot you don't know, Dean."

"Then _tell_ me!" the Hunter demanded, voice a low snarl now, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He wanted to hit Castiel, to do _something_ , to get into the Impala and drive – have a destination, a mission, _something._ He wanted to find Sam, to Hunt something, to _kill_ something. He wanted the knife he'd had back in Hell – something dark and dirty inside of him thirsted for the blood of something sweet and pure, hungered for the power encased in Castiel's vessel.

For a long moment Castiel merely watched Dean, his eyes widening a little as his gaze darted over Dean's face, taking in every detail, down to the slight widening of blackness in the center of Dean's eye, and he swallowed, straightening a little and fixing his clothes on his body. He ducked his head down a little, nostrils flaring wide as he tilted his head to one side, turned his body so some of his throat was bare and Dean didn't even know why but he relaxed, just a little, enough that Castiel's next words came out steady and sure;

"I will explain everything, Dean, in time. I want you to trust me."

Dean blinked, taken aback by the again sudden change in Castiel's demeanor, wondered what might have triggered it this time. "Why?" he asked, voice softening unintentionally.

Castiel smiled, and this time it was sad, almost wistful. "You really don't remember, do you? I guess it doesn't matter." Before Dean could say anything else, Castiel had raised two fingers to his forehead, willing the Hunter to sleep, and Dean fell into Castiel's arms, unconscious, as the creature hauled him over one shoulder and made to carry him to Bobby's couch. "We have time. For now."  



	3.  I'm The One Who Gripped You Tight To Screw Over The Other Guys (Part Three)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  Dean didn't know what had raised him from Hell. It could have been anything powerful enough – demons, Hunters…maybe Sam had made a deal for him. What he  _hadn't_ expected was…Castiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Dean woke up feeling warm, well-rested in a way he hadn't felt since…well, for at least forty years; that much he knew. A quick tilt of his head registered in his brain the feeling of soft pillows against his face, just thick enough, one bracing his shoulder and head, the other providing a rest for his upper body, which was turned away from the first so that he would be able to get to his feet quickly should he need to.

He took a deep breath, and the room smelled clean, with just a hint of something familiar that he was still too drowsy to really place, and then he became aware of a weight on his chest, just at the bottom of his ribcage. It was an arm, attached to something that had dug itself comfortably under his own arm, soft puffs of breath just felt against his t-shirt as slightly warmer than the rest of him, and the fingers of the arm on his chest were curled lightly into his shirt on the other side of him, like whoever was holding him wanted to make sure he wasn't going anywhere.

It took Dean's head a moment, but he realized eventually that there was only one person who would logically be holding him like that – at once he was awake, and sat bolt upright, disturbing the incarnation of Cerberus from his doze.

Castiel snorted roughly, sitting up and acting completely oblivious to Dean's startled state – he sat up, rubbing the heel of his hand against his closed eyes and grumbled softly under his breath. His hair was a mess and the sheets were lightly stained with red where they had obviously rubbed against his clothes. He may still be bleeding – even if Dean couldn't patch him up, staunching the bleeding…he should have tried to do that.

"What the hell?" Dean demanded, when Castiel's eyes finally rose to his. The creature tilted his head to one side, looking confused as though Dean had started speaking to him in another language. Dean gestured to where they were on the bed, moving himself away even further because he couldn't quite put into words that he had been _cuddling_ with the Guardian of Hell.

Castiel's eyes moved back to the rumpled sheets where Dean's body had been, pressing his lips together, and shrugged, looking for all the world like this was a normal situation, as he laid back down, even going to far as to stretch into Dean's part of the bed, breathing deep and rubbing his face against the sheets.

 _Like a dog_ , Dean thought, shivering a little, and he shoved himself away from the bed, breathing a sigh of relief when he realized that, despite the whole _sharing a bed_ thing, Castiel had at least kept him clothed when he'd whammied him asleep.

Speaking of -. "What the hell?" Dean asked again, turning around to look at Castiel as the dog seemingly found a comfortable position on the bed to sprawl on – head resting on one arm, the other lazily stretched out to his side, legs still tangled in the sheets. Rubbing his face against the bed had only messed up his hair more – he looked like someone had made a good night of him. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" the creature finally asked, sounding bored as one eye slitted open, too narrowly for Dean to see any of the blue.

"That…sleep whammy shit," Dean replied, gesturing to his own head. "I don't like that."

"It helped you sleep," Castiel said with another roll of his shoulders in a shrug, wincing at the pull on his back before he sighed, closing his one eye again. "Admit it, best night's sleep you've had in a while."

And Dean didn't say anything to that, because it was true. Instead he blew out a breath, running a hand through his hair and made an annoyed sound.

"Probably have been better solo," he muttered.

At that, Castiel laughed. "Dean," he said, in an exasperated tone, "since when have you preferred to do _anything_ solo?" And Dean chose to ignore that because it kind of made him want to snarl at Castiel and that was a weird reaction, so he did nothing. "What time is it?"

Dean's eyes flashed to the window. "Sometime in the morning. I'd say just before nine," he replied.

The creature blinked up at him again, looking tired. "That," he said emphatically, "is too fucking early."

The idea that a creature of Heaven, Hell and the in-between would so bluntly disapprove of early mornings – and please, this wasn't early, Dean had stories about early mornings – made the Hunter laugh unexpectedly. Because, seriously? "Are you kidding me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Castiel merely rolled his eyes and flopped back down onto the bed, slithering under the covers, and Dean sighed, rolling his eyes and grabbed some spare clothes (because he would _not_ be coming back into this room with only a towel, thank you very much) and went across the hall to Bobby's upstairs bathroom, complete with a shower that actually had decent water pressure and – more importantly – a locking door.

He schlepped off his clothes, grimacing a little at the dried dirt and mud still caked there from when he had dug himself out of his grave – it wasn't like he had had time to grab his stuff from the Impala. Sam still had that, and he only had a few things at Bobby's and between going to Pamela and then Castiel he hadn't had time to get clean for a while.

He also hadn't been able to get a really good look at himself since a brief glimpse in the gas station. There was nothing on him. The Hellhound claw marks had been completely removed, there were no scars there lingering behind…Dean sighed, closing his eyes and letting his head fall forward under the hot water beating down onto him. His hand scraped across his hipbone, where he knew an old knife injury lay when he'd turned his back on a Hunter that had turned out to be more demon than human, and it had still hurt when he moved the wrong way because of how the knife had cracked his bone, but the scar was gone, and when he pressed down his skin rubbed smoothly over the bone. There was no pain. No nothing.

His anti-possession tattoo remained, but Dean had been completely reborn, with only the mark on his shoulder to signify he had led anything other than a normal life.

The handprint. Dean turned his head, tilting his shoulder forward to try and see it better – it still looked red and raw, blistering a little on the edges and he smoothed his thumb over the impression of the handprint's forefinger, shivering at the sensation because it felt as though a small current of electricity was running through his hand to the burn, down his arm and made his fingers tingle and flex. Weird.

He finished the shower quickly, toweling himself off and dressing as fast as he could before heading downstairs, where he saw the Sleeping Beauty had risen from bed, and was currently sitting across from Bobby at the man's small kitchen table.

They both looked up when he entered and Castiel flashed a large, toothy smile, too wide and way too…almost _smug_. Dean immediately felt on edge. "What's going on?" he asked, stepping into the room and the creature's bright eyes followed him like a dog waiting for its master's command.

Bobby sighed. "I called Sam."

Dean froze. No – no calling Sam was meant to wait. They were meant to try and get a grip on whoever or whatever the Hell had happened to _Dean_ – because at the time of calling Pamela Dean hadn't been a hundred percent certain Sam hadn't done it himself, but he didn't want to corner his brother and have Sam lie to him without him knowing. He had to _know_ first. It was happening too fast. They couldn't call Sam yet.

But instead of saying any of those things, Dean cleared his throat. "Okay," he began, "and what did you tell him?"

Bobby snorted. "That the Guardian of Hell had dragged your ass outta the Pit," he said in a deadpan voice, and Dean couldn't even tell if he was kidding or not.

"Which was inaccurate," Castiel said, choosing that moment to interject. "You were actually in the North Wing when I got to you." Bobby and Dean both paused to look at him, and the dog shrugged. "What? You'd, ah, been promoted at that point."

Dean grimaced. Yeah. He didn't want to think about what he'd had to do to get out of that God forsaken Pit.

"Did you seriously tell Sam that?"

"No," Bobby remarked, "but I said I needed his help on a case. He was nearby – should be here in the next day or so."

"And how in the Hell do you think he's gonna react to seeing me here?" Dean demanded angrily, "or Cas? This is big shit, Bobby, we can't just dive into the deep end without knowin' how to swim!"

"Never stopped you before!" Bobby retorted, matching Dean's tone in a way that made Castiel's shoulders go tense, though neither of the men noticed. "Look, boy, I know you, alright? You're gonna go after Sam eventually and I thought maybe it would save some time just bringing him here – he can help us and you're not goin' off on some fool's errand without any backup! I'm serious -." He paused at Dean's snort of derision and denial, the Hunter taking a step back from Bobby, shoulders drawn in – he was denying Bobby's words but they both knew he was lying. "You're gonna need help, Dean, and this is the best we got."

"Dean," Castiel murmured, frowning, "do you not want to reunite with your brother?"

"I…" Of course he did. He wanted nothing more than to see how Sam was doing and demand what the Hell he _had_ been doing for the past four months, but…he didn't want to do that dragging about the tri-personality Guardian of Hell when one of the personalities was preaching about the Apocalypse and the other was trying to get into his pants. That was an awkward situation and a half and Dean didn't really want Sam geeking in on it while Dean hadn't even had time to figure it out so.

But he didn't say any of that – he couldn't. How could he justify that to Bobby when he didn't even know what was going through his own head? Apparently Castiel and he had history, had known each other in Hell, but until he remembered he didn't want anything else dragging that shit down with him.

"So," he said instead of anything else, rubbing a hand down his face and taking a third seat at the table, between Bobby and Castiel with his back to the wall because that was the only one remaining, "what do you think of all this Apocalypse crap?"

"Well," Bobby sighed, leaning back in his chair. Dean could feel Castiel's eyes burning into the side of his face. "Practically every religion and practice on Earth has an End Game – this one, so far as our friend here has told me, seems to be the Judeo-Christian Apocalypse. Lucifer rising up and the Kingdom of Heaven coming down to wipe the Earth clean, or something." The derision in Bobby's voice spoke for itself and Dean fought back a small smile. "I haven't read too much into it yet."

"You should." That was Castiel's voice, cutting through the silence that followed Bobby's statement. The creature looked angry, his fingers curling around themselves hard enough for his knuckles to turn white. Dean thought he caught a slight glow in the whites around his eyes. "It's no laughing matter. Angels are soldiers – warriors of God." His eyes flashed to Dean's, the glow calmed down now but his voice not softening in the slightest. "And they will be coming for you."

"And what exactly is it that they want?" Bobby demanded before Dean could reply, because Dean couldn't look away from Castiel's intense stare – it felt like he was staring down a wolf, like any break from eye contact would be submission and therefore death. Like Castiel was just waiting to make his move, to go for the throat.

For another moment the creature was silent, before he sighed and broke gazes with Dean, looking down to where his own hands were resting on the table, and shoved himself back so he was rocking on the back two legs of his chair. "Basically, it's like…" He sighed again, running a hand through his hair, biting his lower lip in thought. "You see, there's Lucifer – the Devil," he began, sectioning off part of the table for demonstration; "And within that you have all the Dark Side – demons, fallen Angels, all that jazz with Lucifer at the heart of it. And then…then you have Heaven, and the Angels and – most importantly – Michael."

"Michael," Dean deadpanned, remembering vaguely Sam pointing out a statue of him in a church. "The Archangel."

Castiel nodded. "The very same one who defeated Lucifer in the first Fall. And the Apocalypse comes with the rise of the AntiChrist – in this case, demons will be trying to unhinge Lucifer's cage and let him walk about the Earth again. To fight Michael and either reclaim his place in Heaven and rule it or Fall once and for all, ending the whole ordeal. Between Michael and Lucifer, one of them isn't supposed to make it out of this fight."

"Okay," Dean said slowly, "but what does that have to do with me? With any of us? You said I…I started it. How?"

Bobby's eyes darkened a little, hearing those words and realizing he must have been out for that little piece of information, but Castiel continued as though he hadn't seen; his eyes were on Dean, all of his focus on the Hunter, expression utterly serious. "The battle must be waged upon neutral ground," he said softly, as though repeating something that someone had said to him a very long time ago. "And both Archangel must be made equal upon it. They need vessels, just like I do."

"So they're gonna possess some poor bastard?" Dean demanded angrily, and with just a little bit of fear – how in the Hell were they supposed to protect one person within seven billion from the entire Host of Heaven and all of Hell's demon horde?

Castiel smiled, one corner of his mouth curling up. It was not in any way, shape or form, a happy one. "Not just any poor bastard, Dean. Archangels are very particular. There is only one True Vessel in any generation that they can possess. One that is designed for them perfectly, so that they can unleash their full power without destroying everything around them." Dean remained silent – Castiel could see the dreadful certainty in his eyes, but he wouldn't say it before Castiel; "You, Dean. You are Michael's Vessel, and Heaven's chosen Righteous Man."

For a long moment, no one said anything – Dean _couldn't_ say anything. What does someone even say to that? "That's…" Dean paused, swallowed, and tried again, tried for bravado; "Dude, I can't be an Angel's meat suit. Have you _looked_ at me?" The false bluster in his voice fell flat even to his own ears.

Castiel's smile didn't waver. "I'm sorry, Dean," he said, "but you are. And every Angel knows it. They'll want you to say 'Yes' to end and, hopefully, win the war."

Dean swallowed, and didn't have an answer to that, but it was Bobby who spoke for him so he didn't need to; "And since you're here I'm assumin' that's not what's best for, you know, everyone."

"No," Castiel replied, shaking his head in a short, sharp motion. "Even within their vessels, the battle between Michael and Lucifer is sure to lay waste to at least half of the Earth, if not more. The death toll will be in the millions at least." Dean's eyes widened at the idea, of something so monstrous as that much death caused by two people – two _creatures._ Like Godzilla and Mothra. Jesus fucking Christ.

"Why do I have to say 'Yes'?" Dean asked, confused at that part – demons didn't need permission to enter someone's body, that he knew first-hand.

Castiel pressed his lips together, looking back towards Dean. "It was a fail-safe God put in place. To stop this happening before its time. It's, ah, meant to be a little bit of Saving Grace." His mouth twisted at the words, bitten out and bitter and Dean knew there was no love lost between Cerberus and the Angels, but he had no idea why.

In the end Bobby asked the question that was on both their minds; "Why in the hell do you care?" Always his smooth and tactful self, Dean thought with a small smirk. "Earth's not your territory. Yer job's makin' sure people don't get out, right? Why not just keep Satan down should he break out?"

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "Circumstances have changed," was all he said in reply, pushing himself to his feet abruptly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some wards to put up. Your house, while impressive, is not nearly well-equipped enough to handle all of Heaven's Host." Cold, icy eyes landed on Dean for a long moment, and the Hunter had another weird feeling like he was staring into the eyes of a wolf, just waiting for it to attack. "I suggest you come with me and learn. It can only help you." And with that, he turned and left the room without another word, and Dean heard him walking back towards Bobby's door that led to the basement. How he knew it was there, Dean chose not to think about.

"You sure know how to pick your friends, boy," Bobby said, shoving himself to his feet also with a heavy sigh.

"Hey," Dean replied defensively, "I didn't pick this one. He chose me."  



	4. 'm The One Who Gripped You Tight To Screw Over The Other Guys (Part Four)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ean didn't know what had raised him from Hell. It could have been anything powerful enough – demons, Hunters…maybe Sam had made a deal for him. What h _hadn'_ expected was…Castiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Okay, it had gotten to the point where Dean was almost one hundred percent sure that Castiel was making some of these symbols up – seriously, most of them looked like something they would have found in the wreckage of Roswell, the rest reminding him vaguely of demonic repelling sigils, but twisted and warped with way too many new things for him to remotely recognize.

"What are these meant to be _for?_ " he finally asked, unable to keep his curiosity at bay, fingers flexing into his palm because the cut he had laid there was beginning to itch.

Dean had hesitated when Castiel told him that all the sigils needed to be drawn with either blood or Holy Oil – another thing the three-headed Guardian of Hell had informed him about, which acted like a Devil's Trap for Angels when set on fire – but the thing had done it to himself as well and, hey, he wasn't gonna let the guy bleed out any more than he already had, so the Hunter had forced himself to just grit his teeth and deal with it.

Castiel paused, where he was drawing what looked like a crooked 'N' on top of a large circle he'd painted with his own blood onto one of the backs of Bobby's doors, which led towards the basement. "This," he explained with the over-exaggerated patience of someone explaining something to a child for the seventeenth time, "is a sigil that, when pressed in the center by a human soul, powers it and forces an Angel to return to the Heavenly plain, without a vessel. It forces them to waste several precious moments in Heaven trying to rejoin their Grace with their vessel, and in Heaven time moves much slower than that on Earth. If the soul is powerful enough, it sends the Angel farther away and gains you more time."

"So, we just…push the middle?" Dean asked, brow furrowing as he took a step forward, fingers already raised to test the thing out, but Castiel's hand caught him – his grip was surprisingly strong, and he had used the hand that he had laid his blade too, blood dry and caking against his skin rubbing against the bare skin of Dean's arm.

The room stank of blood, and it made something Dean had tried to keep long-buried in Hell lick his lips, mouth watering in hunger.

"I would like to remind you," the creature said, eyes dark and hard when they fixed on Dean's, slowly releasing his wrist when Castiel was certain that the Hunter wouldn't go poking around the powerful sigils, "that I am part Angel. Any and all of these sigils will be able to repel and banish me should you use them."

Dean frowned, curling his fingers back to his palm and lowering his hand, not wanting to inadvertently banish Castiel, though he did make a mental note of that because that would be useful if the thing ever turned on them. Lord knows a tri-polar essentially overgrown Hellhound wasn't the most stable of companions.

"About that," Dean asked, rubbing at his wrist where it was sore, Castiel's grip tight and leaving him aching. Castiel gave a noncommittal hum to show he was listening, returning his attention to completing the sigil on the door under Dean's watchful eye. "You said you belonged everywhere…what did you mean? Granted my knowledge of Cerberus is, well, nonexistent, but I'm pretty sure he never belonged in Heaven…"

The creature paused, eyes flashing to Dean's face, stare unblinking and felt like a physical weight on Dean's shoulders while Castiel stared at him, pressing his lips together in thought. The creature finished drawing the sigil with another low hum, before he laid his hand across his own arm and sealed the wound shut, leaving nothing but a bloodstain behind. "There are many legends about my origin," he said, smiling ruefully in a way that made one corner of his mouth lift higher than the other. "Not a lot of them are true. I was…well." He sighed, shrugging one shoulder. "I suppose another way of saying I belong everywhere is to say that I belong nowhere. Not anymore."

"What happened?" Dean asked, breathlessness betraying the interest he felt from the casual curiosity he was trying to exude.

The creature sighed, smiling a little more widely, enough to show teeth, before he turned away and began to walk down to the stairs leading to the basement, where Bobby's Panic Room lay, and Dean followed without a word, drawn in by Castiel's silence – it seemed familiar, the rustle of leathery wings spreading out to cover the room and touch the walls, cage Dean in – _protective,_ almost, like Castiel was shielding him with his giant, dragon-like wings, just visible in the silhouette cast by Bobby's basement's meager light swinging gently above. It flickered when Castiel walked under it, making Dean tense despite himself.

The creature stepped into the panic room, gazing around it admiringly with that same half-smile on his face, closing his eyes as he walked into the center of the room, underneath the shadow of the rotating fan, and breathed deep. Dean could see the shadows of his wings stretching out high behind him. "I didn't used to live in Hell," Castiel said, his voice startling Dean because it contained octaves and echoes, as though more than one person was speaking at the same time. "I was, if you can believe it, living with the Angels at one point."

A soft hiss accompanied the word 'Angels', one of Castiel's heads tossing and rolling, jaws opening wide in anger, a silent scream like in the picture in Bobby's books. "Then God came to me," he continued, voice calming now so he was speaking as any other normal thing would speak, bright eyes opening, whites around his irises glowing an unearthly light that Dean was beginning to associate with the Angelic, Heavenly side of Castiel. "He told me 'Castiel, I have work for you', and I had been asleep, and playing with my brothers, and I had felt the tremble of Heaven in the Fall but I did not realize… 'Go, help Michael in the war', God said, and I obeyed because what else can you do when God tells you to fight?"

Dean swallowed, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, and he stepped through the threshold of the panic room, unable to break Castiel's gaze. The dog's stare was almost daring him to look away first; staring down a wolf poised to kill.

"God didn't tell me who we were fighting against," Castiel continued, swallowing hard and finally breaking gazes with Dean, looking down at the floor. His shoulders were hunched, hands digging into the back pockets of his trousers – he looked so lost and forlorn and so Goddamn _young_ that Dean was struck by just how heartbreaking the sight was. "My brothers and I aided the Angels in the fight against Sammael – Lucifer – and we were ordered to drag him and his Angels down, and then…then, God told me I had to make sure he stayed in there – Lucifer was powerful and he could break out, and spread his taint and I wasn't allowed to let him do that."

He raised his head. "My brothers and I, and their children, have been dragging down the souls of the damned ever since."

"Hellhounds," Dean whispered, eyes wide in realization that those must be the things Castiel was talking about. Unbidden his hand rose to his chest, nails curling into the fabric as he remembered the feeling of the giant, twisted dogs tearing him apart, ripping his soul out of his chest and dragging him down to join the ranks of demons and damned souls.

Castiel nodded, once, biting his lip. "I was gifted with the name Kerebos – or Cerberus in modern tongue. Sammael himself damned me with the name – if he was to lose his tie to God, then so was I, and humanity has known me by that name ever since."

For a moment, Dean could only stare in stunned silence – he would have never expected that story, not in a million years. "Then why do you hate Angels so much?" he asked, unable to help himself, and Castiel's eyes flashed, whiteness darkening now back to their normal color. "If you used to live with them?"

The creature bared his upper teeth, lip curling back in a silent snarl as he turned to Dean, one hand gesturing wildly above him as though the Angels could hear. "Those _children_ would have ripped the Earth apart time and again for their war! _One_ Angel changes and suddenly it's wrong, but when humanity shows such strength and adoration as Lucifer did, they are praised! Angels are cold, unfeeling, _spoiled_ children to God who have never been humbled by Death, and they would wipe the Earth clean for the sake of an outdated prophecy."

"And you know what God wants?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. "You've been slummin' it in Hell for a while, Cas – how do I know you didn't drag me out to steer me to Hell's side, drag me away from the Angels? If what you've said is true, and the 'good guys' need me, why are you keeping them away?"

"Because!" The very room seemed to shake with the force of the giant dog's growl, though Castiel gave no outside physical sign of being angry aside from the subtle curl of his fingers around his blade, strapped tight to his hip. He took a step forward, fast enough that Dean on reflex backed away, eyes wide, hair standing on end at the electric prickle of power emanating from the smaller man. He could see, in the thrashing outline of Castiel's shadow, the way his three heads weaved and bobbed in anger, jaws opened wide and it looked like they were trying to eat each other, the way they overlapped, giant dragon-like wings flaring high, twitching in agitation.

After a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, Castiel sighed, shoulders drooping and it looked like he was visibly forcing himself to calm down; he raised a hand to his face, rubbing his palm over his nose and then through his hair, breathing out another heavy breath. "Because, Dean," he murmured, sounding tired and worn, "I told you – circumstances have changed. So much has changed."

" _What_ changed?" Dean demanded, no strength left in his words anymore; his heart was still racing from the display Castiel had just shown him, and it felt like the air was crackling with power. "What in the world could have possibly made you do the things you did?"

He watched in awed, anxious silence when the creature kept his eyes towards the ground, refusing to meet his gaze, almost cowed now from his display of aggression like he had been the one being threatened, not Dean. Dean watched as he sucked his lower lip into his mouth, biting down hard enough to white out the edges. "I just…I can't let Heaven do this. I've seen Heaven, and Hell, and Earth is so much _better_. I don't want to ruin it. I don't want it _to be ruined_."

Dean bit his lip, shoulders sagging in acceptance of that. No, he didn't want the Earth to be ruined either. His fingers flexed, his hand itching as the wound on his palm tried to close and scabs started to form, and he stepped back so he was no longer blocking the exit, jerking his head back to signal Castiel to leave. "Come on," he said, ducking his gaze away when those dark blue eyes flashed to his. "Nothin' down here we need to ward, and I want to take another look at that wound on your back. Bobby might have somethin' to stop infection – maybe cauterize it, if need be."

The dog bared his teeth in a smile. "Out of the fire…" he murmured, obediently stepping out of the panic room and allowing Dean to seal it behind them, and he led the way back up the stairs to the main part of Bobby's house, closing the door painted with an Angel banishing sigil they had finished there too. A small, involuntary shiver ran down his back when the door closed, essentially sealing the room off from his sight, his shoulders rolling as his wings instinctively flexed against the feeling of confinement.

To give his hands something to do, he rested his fingers against the handle of its blade, closed his eyes and sighed at the reassuring thrum of power that it pulsed into his hand – tied to the soul he had bound himself to, beating strong and full of purity and joy.

"This way." Dean's voice broke him out of his small lapse in concentration, and when he opened his eyes again it was to see the Hunter's back, retreating from him and back to the room where the first aid kit had been, and with a small smile Castiel followed, head ducking down when Dean turned back to look at him. "Wait here."

"Where else would I go?" the creature asked, too softly to be heard, for Dean's back was already to him, his heavy footsteps leading him upstairs.

Castiel tilted his head to one side, eyes narrowing as he stared at the cabinets lining the walls at eye-level, sighing, leaning back so he rested against the counter, arms folded and fingers still toying idly with the handle of his sword. "You know lurking isn't necessary," he muttered with a roll of his eyes. "I can smell you."

Bobby huffed, stepping into full sight in the room and Castiel tilted his gaze to look at the man, smiling wide and crooked. "I mean neither of you any harm," he said lightly, leaning back and craning his neck to stretch out his back, wincing at the pull on sore and pained muscles and ripped flesh. "Believe me – the last thing I would want to do is -."

"Nah, I don't doubt that," Bobby replied gruffly, cutting him off and Castiel went silent, pressing his lips together, free hand digging into the material of his shirt tight enough to white out his knuckles. "I'm just not sure _why_ you're doin' all this. And, well, you seem mighty close to Dean." There was a heavy pause. "I know it's non'a my business, but, well, kid's like a son to me and I gotta make sure he's not jumpin' into bed with the wrong kinda people."

The creature's eyes flashed, his mouth twisting. "And where were you when he damned himself in the first place?" he hissed, eyes narrowing in blame, pushing himself straighter though he didn't move far, and no other part of his stance changed.

Bobby lifted his chin in defiance, eyes cold and unforgiving. "I'm makin' up for my past mistakes."

And Castiel rolled his eyes, sighing heavily, but made no response, because he could hear Dean's footsteps back down the stairs and he didn't want to be seen fighting with the man's father figure. He needed Dean to see him with a glowing reputation and nothing could, _would_ , sully that. He _had_ to make Dean trust him, and accept him, because if he failed then all of the Earth would be lost.

Dean paused at the threshold of the room, eyes dark and suspicious as he glanced between the two stony-faced men, before he thrust a ball of material into Castiel's hands – the creature took it, fingers splaying out over the soft fabric, and he let it unroll to reveal a t-shirt that looked to be Dean's size; it would fit him loosely on the shoulders and chest and drape around his vessel's waist for sure.

He raised an eyebrow in question. "Burn wounds aren't supposed to be suffocated," Dean muttered in explanation, while Bobby silently but not subtly excused himself from their presence. "We should take another look at it – make sure it hasn't gotten infected."

Castiel smiled a little and, when Dean's eyes moved away, he lifted the shirt up, breathing in the scent. It smelled of Dean, and fabric softener – recently washed but not so recent that the scent of the man did not linger from being around it anyway. It was reassuring. "I am used to burns, Dean," he said, softly but full of meaning that he knew the man would understand. "I can handle it."

"Even so." And that was all Dean said, this look in his eyes like he wouldn't let up until Castiel relented and, smiling a little, the creature thought back to his own brothers; stubborn sons of bitches, if he did say so himself. With a roll of his eyes he relented, setting the shirt down and pulling his own clothing over his head.

Before he should grab the shirt to pull it on, Dean's hand was suddenly on his shoulder, forcibly turning him around so he had to brace himself against the countertop, back turned to the other man.

A small, breathless laugh escaped him. "If this was what you were after, you only had to ask," he jabbed playfully, half-hoping for the familiar snarky comeback he had become so used to in Hell; a taunting twist of the mouth, lust and humor sparkling in eyes the color of dewy grass on Earth. He missed that, more than he could care to say; the space between his ribs felt like they ached with longing for that look again.

He felt the Hunter's fingers tense up on his shoulder, but then Dean's warm hand – callus-rough, fingers skirting along his flanks – flattened over his back, pushing against his spine so he was forced to arch his back, presumably to allow Dean to have a better look at the burn on him. "Please, tell me how this happened," Dean whispered, voice so rough and young-sounding and Castiel swallowed.

Dean wasn't prepared for that – if Castiel told him that then he would have to tell him everything else, the how and the why and the sheer awe he had felt when gazing upon the trembling souls walking into Hell, only to see one man with his head held high and fear masked by the gritty determination in his eyes; the man that had already seen Hell once and was coming back for more.

"Dean -."

"Tell me." That was an order, sure as anything – soft and assured, as gentle fingers lightly traced the flayed skin around the edges of the burn. It hurt, made Castiel tense up and hiss, wanting to shy away, but he forced himself to remain still, fingers curling against the countertop.

Castiel's very being burned with the need to tell Dean what he wanted to know – tell him everything, the man he had sworn to protect with his blade and his blood. "I carried you out," he whispered, hoping in vain that his voice was too soft for Dean to hear. The hands went still on his back. "The closer we got to the surface, the stronger your soul burned, and when we breached the Earth's crust, you…"

He heard Dean suck in a breath. "I…I did this to you?"

The tone of his voice spoke for itself, but Castiel had to see – he turned around, grabbing for the shirt when he looked at Dean's face – his eyes were wide, green eclipsed by the darkness of his pupil, what still lingered of Hell at the familiar sight of a burn, mouth open in shock and there was the pinch of what looked like _pain_ on his face.

That Dean might care – that anything from Hell might care – threw Castiel for a loop, and he swallowed, pulling the new shirt over his head. He had to admit, it did feel better, the grey charcoal color softer than the black leather, looser so it didn't rub and chafe so much and he smiled, fingers curling in the loose edges hanging around his hips. Dean's scent was all over him, and he liked it that way.

"You weren't aware of it," Castiel replied with a small shake of his head, reaching forward to place a hand on Dean's chest – his fingers flared out, palm flattening, able to feel the thunder of the Hunter's heart. Dean seemed frozen. "You were a lot less like your father, in that respect."

Dean frowned at that, seeming to unfreeze, step back from Castiel's touch though the creature straightened his arm to maintain it. "What do you mean?" he asked, voice low in suspicion.

And Castiel smiled, a gentle smile. "Who do you think led the way for him, when the Gates of Hell were opened and demons flocked to the land of the living? _Dean_ ," he whispered, softly, impassioned, stepping forward to close the space between them again. "Your family has been tied to this prophecy for as long as it has existed, and I have sworn to know and protect and guard you. Did you think I would allow anyone of your family – either your father or you – to rot away in such a Pit of anguish and despair?"

Dean swallowed, remaining silent, tongue sliding out of his mouth to lick his lips as Castiel watched him, praying to a father he was no longer able to call upon for any sign of recognition, _any_ spark of memory in Dean's eyes. But he was met with nothing, and, after another long moment, he sighed and let go, stepping back.

"I only ask that you trust me, Dean," he said softly. "Do you trust me?"

And Dean's mind flashed back to the first time Castiel had asked him that, with a blade pressed against his throat and his warm body straddling Dean's, darkness in his eyes and a smile that promised all the rewards on Heaven and Earth if Dean would simply obey, demand, _take_. "Not even a little," he replied, throat raspy, just as before, swallowing hard enough that he felt the sting of where the blade had nicked his skin, where sweat was dampening it.

Castiel snorted, his smile wry and sad.

"Dean!" The moment was broken at the sound of Bobby's muffled shout, and the Hunter's eyes snapped away from Castiel's, moment gone, and once again Castiel was left staring at Dean's back, sighing softly as he followed the man to the front of Bobby's house.

Looking out the window, Castiel saw it at the same time Dean did. There was a large black car pulling up into the free space created within the circle of stacks of car skeletons outside Bobby's house, sleek and shining, her engine loud enough to hear even within the house. Castiel could see Dean's mouth crack into a smile already, eyes brightening at the sight of his beloved car and, undoubtedly, the driver within.

Dean had just about two seconds to feel absolute relief at seeing his Baby, whole and untouched, before joy, excitement and a small sense of anxiety ran through him at the sight of Sam unfolding himself from the idling car, shutting off her engine after he had climbed out by leaning back in and taking out the keys. His fingers curled in anticipation, aching to be next to his brother again and wrap himself around Sam, reassure himself that they were both there and safe and _whole_ and he was _back_ – being with Sam would finally mean that he was _back_ , and -.

A low, loud growl made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and Dean turned, eyes widening when he saw the flat blackness of Castiel's eyes, completely taking over his eye like a demon had possessed him, slamming to the forefront, and the dog creature curled his upper lip back, revealing teeth that were sharp, elongated and serrated on the back edge.

"…Cas?" he hazarded, already moving to stand between the creature and Sam's image through the window, for he knew even though he couldn't see the direction that Castiel's eyes were pointing, that the thing was looking at Sam, and snarling at what he saw.

Bobby, too, had gone tense, fingers subtly reaching for the gun he kept tucked under his desk.

"Cas? What's wrong?" Dean asked again, a shiver rolling down his spine when the creature merely snarled again.

The lights flickered overhead, casting the image of Castiel's shadow on the back wall, wings flared out – all four of them – in what Dean knew somehow to be an attack stance, and all three of the mouths were open wide, gaping, gnashing their teeth in anticipation.

One word rolled from Castiel's tongue, uttered like a curse.

" _Sammael._ "  



	5. I'm The One Who Gripped You Tight To Screw Over The Other Guys (Part Five)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean didn't know what had raised him from Hell. It could have been anything powerful enough – demons, Hunters…maybe Sam had made a deal for him. What h _hadn'_ expected was…Castiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

_"Sammael._ "

It was spoken with such venom, and hatred, and Dean knew he had about two seconds before something very, very bad happened. Already Castiel was reaching for his sword, his eyes blackened, and Sam was walking towards the door and Dean had no doubt in his head that the creature would not hesitate to run his brother through.

He couldn't allow that.

Something – maybe instinct drudged up from Hell, maybe just Hunter's intuition, maybe a combination of those and something else – spurred him into action, and he lunged for Castiel before the dog could take another step.

Castiel fought him, free hand gripping Dean's arm tight enough that the Hunter could feel the bones in his wrist scraping together painfully, and he gritted his teeth and forced the creature's head down, driving his body between Castiel and the window and forcing him back, towards Bobby's basement door.

"Castiel," he hissed, in an attempt to get through to the creature, but all he got was a low snarl, loud enough and strong enough that Dean felt it vibrating in his ribcage – it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, made him want to run or fight. " _Cerberus,_ get back!"

Castiel snarled again, releasing the handle of his sword to take a swing at Dean, shove him away to give him a clear shot for Sam, but then suddenly there was a hand on the back of his neck, fingers digging into the tendons and clamping down, and the part of him that was inherently canine went still at that, panting hard, wild-eyed as he momentarily stopped fighting, instinct telling him to submit before the other animal could rip his throat out.

Dean didn't hesitate – he hauled Castiel backwards and out of the room and back down the hallway to Bobby's basement door, flinging Castiel away from him once they were in the clear so that his back collided painfully with the iron door, and he hissed.

"What the fuck was that?" Dean growled, panic making his voice low and harsh, but Castiel didn't answer – merely shook his head and let out a deep breath through his nose. Dean growled again, slamming his fist against the door next to Castiel's head, making the creature flinch. "Fucking answer me," Dean demanded, taking Castiel's chin and forcing his head up so their eyes could meet. It probably wasn't a good idea, cornering such a powerful creature, but something – something dark and secret and lurking in the corners of his soul – was whispering that it would be okay, that Castiel would never dare to hurt him, that he _couldn't_ attack and kill Dean – call it Hunter's intuition, but none of the threat from Castiel was directed at Dean and Dean knew that. "Castiel."

When the creature's eyes finally rose to meet his, they were still too black, but the white was fading back in around the edges and soon Dean could see traces of blue again. "I…" Castiel sounded panicked, his body twisting to try and see back the way they had come, but Dean's hand tightened on his chin, slid down to his throat, and forced him back against the door with a dull thud, his sword clinking against the metal by his side.

"No," Dean said, soft and measured, staring down the wolf in Castiel's eyes until he was sure that the creature understood him – he could take the dog's behavior when it was just himself and Bobby, but _no one_ threatened Sam and Castiel needed to be sure he understood that, otherwise their relationship would not stay friendly. "You're gonna stay right here, and look at me, until you've calmed down and can explain to me just what the fuck that was, back there."

Dean's hand was pressing tight enough to Castiel's throat that he could feel the creature swallow, tongue darting out to lick at his dry lips, his eyes moving over Dean's face like he was looking for any crack in the façade, any weakness in Dean's words, but he would and could find none.

"I -." And then, Bobby's door rattled with a knock – short and sharp like the strike of a gun's handle against the door – and black slammed into the back of Castiel's eyes again, and he snarled loudly, body arching forward in an attempt to fight Dean's hold on him.

"Okay, then," Dean grunted, allowing Castiel to lunge forward just far enough that he was able to yank Bobby's door open, and then he shoved at the creature until he fell back inside, stumbling over the steps, and it was enough time for Dean to slam the door shut, seal painted on the door enough to keep Castiel trapped inside, if he remembered correctly.

"Sit tight, sweetheart," he called, slamming his fist against the door to reinforce his point, and he could feel more than hear the rolling snarl coming from the other side of the door, like a great beast was prowling around deep within the bowls of Bobby's house, trapped in the walls and scratching through the floor.

"Dean!" That was Castiel, sounding panicked and distraught and Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his mouth, and began to walk away. "Dean! No! _Dean!_ "

He could hear Castiel shouting, slamming his hands against the walls – but too weak thanks to the sigil to smash through them – as he walked back towards Bobby's front room, shoulders tensing as the dog's cries became more and more fevered until Dean was pretty sure the whole damn town would be able to hear him. He caught Bobby's eye, nodding once and pressing his lips together, before another voice said his name and he turned to look his little brother in the eye.

He couldn't stop his smile if he tried – Sam's eyes were wet and Dean knew he had about five seconds of the girl staring at him before he would start tearing up, too – and he held his hands to either side of him in a 'Here I am' gesture. "Hey, Sammy."

 _"Dean_." The sheer amount of relief and _hope_ in Sam's voice almost made Dean want to run to him, but he waited for Sam to approach, just in case -.

Yeah, there it was.

"I promise, Sammy, I'm me!" Dean shouted, almost amused as a silver knife came flashing at him and he dodged out of the way. It was to be expected, after all – people don't make a habit of crawling out of Hell, though he'd like to think Sam would have given Bobby more credit.

"I tried all that on him," Bobby interjected when Sam just stood there, breathless and calculating like he was trying to tell just from looking at Dean if it was his brother or not. "Silver, iron, salt – he's the bona fide Dean Winchester, Sam."

"But I…" And then Sam's entire body went lax, his shoulders untensing and he set the knife down and Dean allowed himself to straighten out of the defensive stance he had taken. "I didn't…"

Dean raised his chin, folding his arms across his chest. "Didn't what, Sam?"

The younger man blinked, and tears were really starting to form in his eyes now. "I couldn't find her – Lilith. I mean, I'm on her trail but she kept getting away and…I couldn’t get any demon to deal, Dean. I tried. I tried and I couldn't and…"

"Hey, _hey,_ Sammy…" And then Dean was hugging him, wrapping him tight in his arms, fingers digging into the coarse material of his over shirt and clinging to him as though Sam would disappear in a puff of smoke if he didn't hold tight enough. Sam was clinging back just as hard, taking a deep breath at Dean's neck, almost cracking his back with how tightly he was holding, and _Jesus,_ when did Sam get so big? "It's alright, I'm here anyway, aren't I?"

"But how, Dean?" Sam finally asked when they pulled apart, Sam wiping the back of his hand across his eyes and sniffing, trying to hold himself back now. "How did you -?"

_"Dean!"_

A shudder ran through the house from a particularly harsh blow against the foundations, accompanied by a loud roar, making the floorboards tremble and dust fall from the roof above. "Shit," Dean muttered, running a hand through his hair, eyes flashing to Bobby in the hopes that the older man might have an idea of how to calm down the creature before he ripped the house apart, and keep him away from Sam and whatever the Hell was messing him up like this.

"It's complicated," Dean finally settled on, lifting one shoulder in a shrug when Sam's face melted into an expression that clearly indicated that 'it's complicated' would not be a satisfactory explanation.  "Look, I just -." Another blow, another shower of dust, and Dean cursed again. "We kinda have Cerberus locked up in the basement."

He was already turning and hurrying down the hall when Sam's disbelieving shout followed him. "You _what?_ "

At the sound of his voice, Castiel's cries and his attempts to get out of the room fell silent, replaced with a low, almost continuous growl that Dean felt more than heard, thudding arrhythmic to his heartbeat. He shivered at the sound of it, that little dark voice in the back of his head goading him onward to open the door. His fingers clenched around the handle. "We have," he repeated tersely for Sam's benefit, "the incarnation of Cerberus in the basement. He's the one who dragged me out of Hell, and _apparently,_ " He paused again, raising an eyebrow in Sam's direction, "he doesn't like you."

Sam's brow furrowed. "Why wouldn't he like me?"

"Because you failed to offer him a hot beverage?" Dean snapped in reply. "I don't _know_ , Sam, but he took one look at you and went postal. Almost like…"

The older Hunter fell silent, then, contemplating the figure of his younger brother silently while Sam shifted under the scrutiny. "What?" he finally snapped, fingers flexing by his sides, shoulders tense.

"Nothin'," Dean finally replied with a sigh, shaking his head. "Point is, maybe it would be better for you to wait outside. In a circle of salt so he can't get you, maybe. Just…" Dean gestured back towards the front of Bobby's house. "Until I can get him to calm down. Please."

"But Dean, what if he -?"

"He won't hurt me," Dean replied, because he knew what Sam was going to say – _What if he attacks you, or kills you?_ And Dean knew it was stupid to believe such a thing – Castiel was, at heart, a wild animal, something evil borne in Hell, but there was _something…_ this unavoidable little niggling in the back of his mind, that maybe he and Castiel had…maybe been _friends_ in Hell. Maybe Castiel had been close to him, maybe served him or protected him or _something_. There had to be _some_ reason Castiel would choose to rescue him, had to be _some_ reason that he would allow Dean to potentially hurt him, to force his head down and strip his clothes off and allow Dean to sleep pressed right up against his side, nose at his bared throat.

There had to be a reason.

Castiel wouldn't hurt him. "Go, Sam."

He heard a loud sigh, and then footsteps walking away, and Dean closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the door for a long moment, before he threw it open, stepping onto the stairs leading down to Bobby's basement and slammed the door immediately behind him.

It was just in time, as no sooner did the door close than Castiel's body collided with his, knocking the wind out of him as the dog attempted to run through him to get through the door, but Dean heard the mechanism click shut, and Castiel let out a frustrated growl against his neck.

Then, the warmth of Castiel's body was gone, the dog shoving himself away and walking down the stairs, out into the open where the light above allowed Dean to see him, his shadow stretching impossibly huge along the floor, and Dean followed, clearing his throat when he reached the bottom of the stairs and found the creature glaring at him with accusing eyes. "Let me out of here, Dean," Castiel demanded, folding his arms across his chest and hissing his name.

"No," the Hunter replied with a one-shouldered shrug, earning another frustrated growl and a roll of Castiel's bright eyes. "Not until you tell me what the fuck is up with you. You're acting like a fucking rabid animal!"

The look Castiel sent him then – if looks could kill, Dean would have dropped where he stood. The shadow of Castiel's wings was twitching, feathers ruffled and puffed up, talons arching from the dragon wings, heads bobbing and thrashing with their mouths open in silent roars of anger and hunger. But the eyes that focused on Dean betrayed the hurt, hearing Dean call him a 'rabid animal' – it struck something in Castiel, made him take a long, deep breath through his nose.

"Forgive me," he whispered, fingers curling in tight to his sides, picking at the loose edge of the grey shirt Dean had given him. "I don't…" Then, his eyes tracked upwards, as though he could see through the ceiling to the rooms above, and he shivered, upper lip curling back. "I can _smell_ him."

A name rose in the back of Dean's mind. "Sammael?" he hazarded, earning a low snarl from Castiel, the creature turning away to hide his face, the flash of his blackened eyes, but Dean followed him, herding Castiel towards the door to the panic room, trapping him between the sigils they had painted on the wall. "Cas, listen – my brother is _not_ who you think he is!"

"Of course he isn't!" the dog snapped, rounding on Dean, forcing the human to halt because neither of them had any further to go – Castiel's back was pressed up against the door of Bobby's panic room, his shoulders tensed and forward like he was protecting his neck, eyes focused on Dean, but his head was bowed, unthreatening. "But…but he will be. I mean -."

" _What_ do you mean, Castiel?" Dean demanded, his voice softening at the display of – he could barely think of the word – _submission_ coming from the creature, and he could feel his body straightening up, putting himself above Castiel though he had no idea why, or what kind of sense memory was making him do so. "What do you see when you look at him?"

"This is so much more complicated than I thought," the creature whispered, running a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "Dean." He sighed, eyes falling closed, teeth sinking into his lower lip before he spoke again; "Your brother, like you, plays a key role in the Angels' plans. Just as you are a host for Michael…Sam is for Lucifer. Sammael – your brother is the Archangel's vessel."

Dean blew out a breath, taking in that news. Strange as it sounded, it kind of made sense – at least, it explained Castiel's sudden turn in behavior. Dean shuddered to think of what he would do if he was confronted with his reason for being in Hell. "Cas," he murmured, earning a low sound of acknowledgement from the dog, as he raised his eyes and met Castiel's gaze, "can you control yourself around him?"

"I…" The dog swallowed, eyes darting to the floor, then back up to Dean's face, and then to the ceiling, before his shoulders visibly slumped and he took a step towards Dean. "I was taken by surprise. I can…I want to try."

Dean pressed his lips together, appraising the creature. He wouldn't tolerate any threat or violence shown towards Sam, no matter how much he might owe Castiel – and he was grateful, sure, but there were a _lot_ of things he knew Castiel was keeping from him, and secrets didn't bode well when associated with the Winchesters.

"You'll walk right next to me," he said, turning around and leading the way back towards the stairs leading out of the basement. "If you even _look_ like you're thinking about attacking Sam, I swear I'll throw you back in here and lose the key."

He could _hear_ Castiel smile. "I understand, Dean."

"Good," Dean replied, opening the door with a rough shove and stepping out of the basement, Castiel close behind. He made sure to keep the creature in sight as they walked back down the corridor, and he could hear Sam and Bobby talking in the front room. God, it felt good to hear Sam's voice again, even if it was tense and low with worry.

"How long has he been back? With this thing?"

"A couple days."

"Jesus Christ, Bobby, way to keep me in the loop."

"Hey! Maybe if you'd kept your _phone_ on ya, boy, you might'a known sooner -."

Dean paused, just out of sight, frowning at the tenseness in his brother's and mentor's voices. Had Sam been ignoring Bobby's calls? Why would he do that? At once, a thousand possible scenarios flashed through Dean's head, of what Sam could have been getting himself into for the four months Dean was gone, but then they disappearing, as fleeting as a light breeze, when Castiel's warm hand smoothed out over his shoulder, the dog letting out a low sound that reminded Dean of a soothing purr, rattling deep in his chest.

"Banish those kinds of thoughts," he heard Castiel murmur, too close to his ear. It made him go tense, wanting to move away, but the only way was forward and he didn't want to be seen yet. The dog purred again, bony chin resting on Dean's shoulder, fingers squeezing before falling away. "Do not doubt your brother. Everything will fall into place."

When Dean turned his face to look upon the creature, he found Castiel's eyes shining bright and blue, all human, with no trace of the black demonic influence from before. The creature flashed him a smile, turning his face in and nuzzling at Dean's neck before he straightened, a hand flattening across the small of Dean's back and gently pushing him into the room.

If Dean were in a position to argue that sort of thing, he would have – that kind of thing was just too damn intimate, felt familiar and _close_ in a way he knew it shouldn’t, but then two pairs of eyes were on him and he couldn't say a damn thing about it.

He cleared his throat. "Hey, guys," he whispered, flushing despite himself, rubbing the back of his neck. "I think I've managed to calm him down, so…"

Dean stepped to one side, tense and ready should Castiel decide to try and attack Sam again, and he noticed his brother taking a similar stance, ready for anything. He felt a warm flush of pride at his brother – clearly being on his own hadn't dulled his senses any. That was good, would be useful, especially if the upcoming fight proved to be as big as Castiel claimed it was.

"Sam." Castiel sounded controlled, measured, but he stayed by the door and that didn't go amiss with Dean. The creature even managed a smile, and it didn't seem forced – his eyes glowed with warmth, his expression affectionate. "Forgive me for not introducing myself properly before." His gaze raked over Sam, expression unwavering, but because Dean was looking so closely and watching for any possible hostility, he saw the darkening of the blue in Castiel's eye, the expansion of his pupils as Hellfire pressed forward, was suppressed. "I have heard a lot about you."

Sam blew out a breath, and Castiel raised his chin towards the other man, stare unwavering. "You're Cerberus?" he finally asked, almost disbelieving except anything could be believed in the world of a Winchester.

Castiel smiled – wide and toothy. "That'd be me."

Dean clapped his hands together, then, because Castiel's eyes were getting blacker and Sam's hand was twitching towards his gun. "Alright, guys – Sammy, you might wanna sit down 'cause boy, do we have a story to tell you." Sam frowned at him, but obeyed, taking a step away from Castiel while Dean planted himself firmly between the two of them, so that Castiel wouldn't be able to get to Sam through him. "And I'm sure you've got plenty to update both me and Bobby on since I bit the dust. So." He turned, fixing Castiel with a meaningful look, and the dog rolled his eyes, settling his weight on one leg and leaning against the door. "If there's no more introductions to be made – let's get this show on the road, shall we?"  



	6. 'm The One Who Gripped You Tight To Screw Over The Other Guys (Part Six)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> o, it's just the end of the world. With the three-headed guardian of Hell taking it upon himself to be Dean's personal guard dog, that's the least of the Winchesters' problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. Also guys if you haven't already you desperately need to check out the [Cerberus!Castiel](http://carrionofmywaywardson.tumblr.com/post/42103406400/so-here-it-is-cerberus-cas-for-rowan-the-most) art that Anna (carrionofmywaywardson on Tumblr) drew me because fucking hell it's beautiful.

There turned out to be a shit-ton of lore on Angels, God, and everything in between. None of it came from what Dean would call a reputable source, given that most of the shit regarding Angels had way too much of the religion and Godly tone about it, but he wasn't about to say anything in front of a tri-polar servant of Heaven who may or may not really be on his side – it was to be determined, at least.

Sam couldn't stop staring. It was weird, because Dean felt Sam's gaze on Castiel like his little brother was staring at _him_ , eyes unwaveringly locked on the massive shadow of Castiel thrown against the back wall from the setting sun's light outside, heads ducking and weaving restlessly but all focused down. The creature was bent over a thick tome Bobby had given him, described as the original writings of John when giving his visions of the Apocalypse, and he seemed very much lost in thought, but Dean could see in the set of his shoulders and the way he kept every movement careful and slow, that Castiel knew Sam was watching him.

It was a good thing, Dean thought, that Sam had chosen to sit as far away from Castiel as possible while still sharing Bobby's large desk, Dean planted firmly between them as a kind of peace-keeper and no man's land. The older Hunter had his doubts, sure enough, but he was pretty sure that any violent urges Castiel might feel towards Sam would be negated, if not completely controlled, by his presence there. Somehow, in Hell, he had gained the dog's loyalty and obedience, and while he was determined to find out the 'how' and the 'why', for now he was content just knowing that it was there.

However, just as he knew it would, the tense truce didn't last forever. Sam sat back with a heavy sigh, rubbing the heels of his palms against his eyes, and the movement caught Dean's attention. Sam looked tired – more than that, he looked on edge. Sure, inhabiting space with the guardian of Hell was no relaxing day at the beach, but he looked…Dean shook his head. No. Sam looked fine – tired, maybe, but still fine. He shouldn't doubt him.

Castiel's eyes flashed upwards to meet the gaze of the younger Winchester. He was smiling slightly. "You're Cerberus," Sam finally said, slumping his shoulders and bracing his elbows on the side of the desk while Dean sighed, leaning back from his book and blinking his eyes to bring them back to focus on something other than the tiny black lettering.

The dog nodded, once. "That'd be me."

"But…you're also Castiel?" Dean smirked, rubbing a hand over his mouth, and raised an eyebrow in Castiel's direction. He wasn't looking towards Dean.

Castiel nodded, once, again. "That was my Angel name," he said, gaze flashing briefly downwards, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "It is the name I prefer, if I am to be honest."

The whites of his eyes seemed brighter, somehow, as though they were glowing – the Angel part of him pushing forward, his center head shaking out the small mane of ruff around the edge of it, jaw opening wide.

"So…so it's all true? Myths and Gods and everything? Hercules, Zeus, _Lucifer?_ It's _all_ real?" Sam was breathless, and Dean barely managed to stifle his amused snort at the gleam in his little brother's eye; some things would never change, it seemed, and Sam's intrigue towards the weird and wonderful would always be one of them.

Castiel smiled more widely, his eyes brightening in amusement. "Herakles was a…a strange soul." His mouth twisted in a smile, teeth sinking into his lower lip as though he was trying to stop himself laughing, his eyes landing on Dean again. "I haven't met anyone like him for a very long time."

If Sam missed the look or not, Dean didn't know, because he refused to look his little brother in the eye. "So you knew Hercules?" Sam asked, seemingly unperturbed by the weird exchange going on between Dean and Castiel, though Dean thought he _had_ to have known – freaky psychic boy always picks up on shit like that.

Castiel's smile grew. "I suppose 'knew' is too ambiguous a term. He showed me the ways of the world." A hand gestured vaguely in the air towards Bobby's window and to the cars outside. "I knew of Hell, and of Heaven, and how a soul could buy, or sell, their way into each place." He hesitated, then, eyes dragging back towards the Winchester brothers. Such bright souls, greyed-out with grief and loss, and so tightly intertwined. He'd be jealous if he had a right to be. "But I didn't understand why." Castiel swallowed again, breaking gazes with Sam and focusing back on the book in front of him. "I do now."

The way Castiel deliberately avoided looking towards Dean unsettled the older Hunter, and he cleared his throat, sitting back and slamming his book closed with a definitive thud. "All these words are blurrin' together," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes again, "and I've taken pretty much all of 'God' that I can. S'time to hit the hay."

Sam blew out a breath also, rolling his shoulders as he followed suit. "Sounds like a plan," he said, with that same edge to his voice that Dean wasn't used to, a tenseness to the set of his mouth that looked like he was trying very hard not to say something. Well, there would be changes brought about by four months of 'No Dean'. Maybe Sam didn't quite believe that he was back yet. Maybe Dean didn't either.

Dean pushed himself to his feet, hesitating only a moment when Castiel was the only one who didn't follow suit. Sam had left the room, then, steps slow and hesitant, looking over his shoulder one too many times before Dean could hear him going up the stairs.

He waited another moment, before his gaze inevitably landed on the figure of Castiel, still stubbornly bent over his book and pretending (or maybe he really was, Dean didn't know nor did he care) to read it, until Dean reached down and tapped him on the shoulder. "Come on," he said.

Castiel looked up, surprise on his face. "What?"

Dean's mouth twisted in a grim mockery of a smile. "You think I'm letting your leash off with Sam in the house, given what happened last time? Not for a second."

Castiel's eyes darkened, his mouth twisting in an expression of restrained anger, as the darkness in the middle of his eyes momentarily expanded outward. "I believe I have been remarkably well behaved, so far," he muttered slowly, his voice too low and too measured for Dean to feel comfortable. Unbidden, the remembered sensation of Castiel's voice sliding through his soul sank into Dean, and he swallowed, able to remember the cold bite of steel against his throat and the power radiating from the creature when he had first seen Castiel's silhouette.

"Even so." Dean would not back down from this – and Castiel would not hurt him. He was almost certain of it now; even more so when the creature's shoulders slumped in defeat after another moment of staring down the wolf in Castiel's eyes, and he sighed, closing his book after marking the page and pushing himself to his feet.

"My back hurts," he muttered, a way to fill the silence when Dean herded him out of the room, and Castiel reached behind himself to pick at the place where his borrowed t-shirt was starting to stick to his back, crusting with the dead skin and stuff Dean didn't want to think about that was surely oozing from his charred and broken skin.

For a long moment, Dean didn't reply, and Castiel halted himself at the foot of the stairs that either led upwards to the floor above, or further down the corridor and down to the basement. "I hurt you," Dean finally said, and Castiel turned around, meeting Dean's eyes and unable to place the emotion within them. Guarded, he decided after a while – guarded and confused. "I hurt you, and you let me. You could have left me there to rot in the deepest part of Hell where the Angels would have never found me, but you brought me here."

Castiel dropped his gaze. "They would have found you," he said softly, swallowing hard. "If it took them a thousand years, they would have found you."

"And how did you find me?" Dean asked, reaching out to take Castiel's chin, force his gaze upward so that he could see the creature's eyes. "When you saw them coming – you'd have had to act fast. Where was I?"

There was still that guarded look in Dean's eyes, and Castiel hated it – felt the same sour, hateful fire that he had felt when looking upon the demon horde shrinking back and screaming at the bright light of Heaven's soldiers raining down upon them like Hellfire. "You were with me," he said, the sudden surge of fury making his voice shake and it was with great effort that he forced his body not to react, not to spring into action again and hide Dean within the deepest bowels of the Earth, shield him with every sigil and ward and, when all those failed, his own blade. "You were always with me by that point."

Dean blinked. "How?" he asked, too breathless for his liking but he couldn't seem to care. "What were we? What are you to me?"

"Dean," Castiel whispered, shaking his head and freeing himself from Dean's hold, to put distance between them. "Don't ask me that. Please – it's not fair."

"I can't remember it, Cas," Dean said, stepping forward so that Castiel was forced between his body and the stairs. "So you have to tell me. Come on, you owe me that much!"

"I owe you jack _shit_ ," Castiel snarled in reply, his anger so sudden that Dean took a step back in surprise, watching with cautious and nervous eyes as the black in Castiel's pupil flew outwards and Dean was staring into the eyes of a demon. " _I_ am the one who pulled you out of that Hellhole. _I_ am the one who is guarding your pretty white ass from being jumped by Angels and demons on all sides." There it was again, that low growl that Dean could feel more than hear, in the soles of his shoes and thrumming in his chest. Castiel took a step forward, closing the space between him and Dean and it was like Dean could feel the Hellfire pouring out of him – the air in the room felt stifling. "Is there no respect in you?"

"You haven't earned it," Dean found himself growling in reply, shoulders tense and his own darkness forcing out his words in a biting hiss; "I can't respect someone who keeps secrets like this from me, Cas. They're dangerous. They get people killed."

"Oh." Castiel snorted, throwing is hands up in the air, his expression one of derision and disgust. "If you want to talk about _secrets_ , Dean, don't go throwing the first stone. Of all the people in this house you are far from pure."

There was a pause where Dean swallowed hard, lifting his chin in defiance. The blackness in Castiel's eyes had yet to recede from the all-encompassing filter, and he could see his own reflection in them. It was unnerving. He looked like Hell.

"Now you listen to me," he said, careful to keep his voice even and low – he didn't know where Bobby was, but he knew Sam was upstairs and if they kept yelling then he was sure to hear. He took a step closer, wanting to be sure that Castiel was paying attention. "You said – I remember this – you said you swore that you would protect me, yeah?" He raised his eyebrows, waiting until Castiel bit his lip and nodded, silently. "You can't protect me from what I don't know, isn't that right? How can I know you're doing your job if I'm not doing mine?"

"Dean," Castiel murmured, but Dean waved his hand, cutting the creature off from whatever it was he was going to say. The black in his eyes seemed to be dulling; the anger in him cooling in the face of Dean's stern and even tone.

"Nah, Cas, I get it – you're just trying to protect me, yeah?" _Like a guard dog would._ Castiel nodded, the black in his eyes now pulling back from the edges so that Dean, standing as close as he was, could see the whites around. "And I probably owe you for a lot more than just that, right?"

Dean's voice was like the temptation of the serpent, filling Castiel's head and making his skin feel like it was too tight on his body. His entire body ached to reach across to Dean, wrap his fingers tight around the back of the Hunter's neck, pull him close, and mesh their bodies together. He wanted to relearn the warmth of Dean's mouth, feel the coiled strength in his shoulders, revel in the biting feeling of nails digging into his flanks.

He was breathless with it.

"So why don't you just tell me, Cas?" Dean whispered – he was still talking, and Castiel knew he was lost; lost to the fullness of his lips and the life in his eyes, and the softness of his skin and the power in his hands. Dean was smiling, head tilted, throat almost bared to Castiel's mouth and how badly the creature wanted to remember the taste of Dean's skin under his tongue – even if he had never known Dean so intimately, he wanted that. Alistair had bragged so much about it.

His mouth was dry. The Hellfire in Dean's eyes made him so thirsty, desperate for water, and the heat of Dean's body pressed so close – so close and still not close enough, not touching, not _melding together_ – was making him shake. "Dean…"

"Tell me what you are to me," Dean repeated, his hand lightly squeezing Castiel's shoulder before letting go, "so that I can thank you."

The blue of Castiel's eyes was almost startling after the black shield of Hellion smoke that made up his demonic vision, and Dean pressed his lips together, waiting for any answer he may receive. The way Castiel was looking at him unnerved him – like the creature would give or do anything to…to what? That, he didn't know. And maybe he didn't want to know. Who knows what drives a tri-polar dog to that kind of fervent desire?

"How?"

It was said so quietly that Dean wouldn't have known it was said at all, had he not been watching Castiel's mouth so closely for the words. He frowned. "How what?"

Castiel cleared his throat, and the next words came out stronger: "How will you thank me, Dean? You have nothing that I want." The lie slid easily off of Castiel's tongue, accompanied by a smirk that he was proud of for accomplishing, giving how badly he wanted to fall to his knees and beg.

Dean blinked, leaning back. "I'm sure I can think of something," he said, and Castiel finally managed to break his gaze, looking down and swallowing hard. His fingers toyed with the loose edge of Dean's borrowed shirt. "You said you wanted my respect, right? …Or perhaps something else?"

That guarded tone was back and Castiel daren't meet Dean's eyes, unsure of what he would see if he did so. "Nothing that I want is what you are willing to give me," he finally said, straightening up and rolling his shoulders with a sigh. "Weren't you tired? You should rest. Soon the Angels will figure out where you are and we cannot stay holed up in here forever. There is much work to be done."

"I'm not letting you stay out here while I'm asleep," Dean said, frowning but willing to let the subject drop for now, if Castiel didn't want to talk about it Dean wasn't going to make him – he knew Castiel wouldn't hurt him but there was still a difference between taunting the bear and leaving it be. "You need to sleep in the basement. I'll let you out in the morning."

Castiel's eyes dropped again, and he licked his lips, fingers still fidgeting. "I'd rather…" But it was said so quietly that under the falling shield of his vessel's fringe Dean couldn't see those words being said. Castiel's shoulders were tense when Dean led the way to the basement, opening the door and holding it open. "You'll have nightmares," he said as he walked down the first two steps, turning back to look at Dean.

The Hunter raised an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

The door was already closing; he didn't really care about the answer. "You always do," Castiel whispered once the door was closed and he was shrouded in darkness. His very being shuddered in anger at being so confined, but he forced himself to bear it as he climbed down the rest of the stairs and into the basement proper.

Dean would come back for him. Nothing could get to Dean or Sam while the wards remained strong, he reminded himself, huffing out a breath as he nodded, in an attempt to convince himself of that fact. Try as he might, though, he couldn't relax in that knowledge – it was all well and good to ward the place, but if demons or Angels did show up then that meant there was no way out except for him and they could be anyone and Dean could be caught or taken and he would just be trapped in this fucking basement, helpless and pathetic and -.

 _Stop it_ , he told himself with a growl, closing his eyes. He took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair, and blew it out heavily through his nostrils. Worrying himself stupid was going to get nothing done, and he'd be damned if he was going to pace the floor all night like some abandoned dog waiting for its master to come home.

Three hours later, Castiel looked up when the door to the basement swung open, revealing Dean's silhouette in meager outside light.

He smiled, but it was sad. "I told you you'd have nightmares."

"Shut up," Dean said, stepping back to allow Castiel through.  



	7. I'm The One Who Gripped You Tight To Screw Over The Other Guys (Part Seven)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, it's just the end of the world. With the three-headed guardian of Hell taking it upon himself to be Dean's personal guard dog, that's the least of the Winchesters' problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

When Dean woke, he was warm.

It took another moment or so to put together the events of last night into a sequence of events wherein this made sense – a testament to just how well and how deeply he had slept. He shifted, found his arms wrapped around something – a body, the source of the warmth. Soft hair tickled at his nose and chin and there was the steady in-and-out of someone's breath against his neck, even and measured and deep.

It made sense, said the rational part of his mind that was doing its damnedest not to freak out. He would have wanted to know where Castiel was at all times while he slept – he had warded the door against Castiel leaving the room without him, but that didn't mean he would trust the dog to not find some way around it. No one gave away their one weakness without a loophole.

And his shoulder hurt, which would have meant he slept on his side, and Castiel's back hurt. Dean shifted his hands, careful to make sure he wasn't putting pressure on the wound in Castiel's back, but the creature seemed relaxed and untroubled.

Slowly, Dean unwound himself from the tangle of sheets he had woken himself up in, trying hard not to wake Castiel as well – the son of a bitch was stubborn but if he was going to do…whatever the hell it was he was going to do, well, Dean wanted him rested and healed up as soon as physically possible.

He left his door open, figuring he could trust Castiel to not go crazy now that they were both awake, and plodded downstairs in search of food. There wasn't much in Bobby's fridge – they'd have to make a food run – but Dean managed to find fixings for ham sandwiches. He made one, wrapped it in Clingfilm and left it next to one of Sam's large books for Sam, and carried the other two back upstairs to his room.

When he returned, closing the door behind him, Castiel had stirred awake, blinking sleepily and yawning wide. He looked the picture of decadence, stretching his arms out in front of him, cheeks sleep-flushed and hair in even more disarray than usual. Without a word, Dean set down a sandwich in front of him, and Castiel blinked at it before sitting up, his eyes meeting Dean's, before he smiled and took a bite.

"How'd you sleep?" he asked around a mouthful of ham and bread.

Dean grunted, sitting himself down on the side of the bed with one leg folded up, the other hanging down so his foot touched the floor. "You're the one who whammied me: you tell me," he answered, turning to keep the dog in his line of sight while he tucked into his own sandwich.

Castiel hummed, taking another bite. "What did you dream about, before you came to get me?"

For a while, Dean didn't say anything. It was a loaded question and a half, and Castiel had inferred that he knew exactly what Dean was dreaming about anyway. What was the point in vocalizing it?

"I still don't remember you," he said instead of anything else that sprang to mind, taking another bite of sandwich. Damn, they really needed a food run. Hot food and beer wouldn’t go amiss at all if he and Castiel were going to continue sharing space. "How does it work?" he asked after a short silence, earning a curious look from the creature. He gestured to his temple. "The sleep thing you do. It's weird. I know I dreamed, but I don't remember it."

Castiel raised an eyebrow, and shrugged. "I merely keep the nightmares away. Whatever your brain chooses to dream about instead is, of course, up to your subconscious." He paused, taking his time to chew his mouthful before swallowing audibly. "I daresay if it's something you cannot remember, then maybe you were dreaming about…happier times." And there was something about the way he deliberately avoided Dean's eyes that set the Hunter on edge. "What do you usually dream about when you have good dreams?"

Dean snorted, wiping a hand over his mouth as he smirked. "Number of things," he said lightly, though it sounded forced and strained even to his own ears. "Usually a pretty blonde or four."

"Women," Castiel murmured, nodding to himself. The napkin Dean had brought him the sandwich on was balancing precariously on his cross legs, half-eaten food forgotten now as he picked at the crust around what he hadn't eaten. "The first you cut into was a blonde."

Immediately, Dean went tense, his shoulders drawing in tightly as he looked towards Castiel, hands frozen halfway between his mouth and his food. "What the fuck did you just say?"

Castiel still wasn't looking at him – just at his sandwich, as he worried at his lower lip with his teeth, brows drawn together. "I don't remember her name, but I remember when she came into Hell, and stepped under my feet to pass through." It was then that he looked at Dean, pupils too wide for the amount of light coming into the room and shadow flickering in his eyes. "She deserved to be there," he said, with no condemnation or damnation in his tone – just simple statement of fact. "Your guilt over her, though, was extraordinary."

Dean could feel his fingers curling, nails digging into his palms as he struggled not to react. He remembered her – remembered her name, her sins, rattled off to him like some animal at an auction before he'd taken a blade to her chest, sliced her open from collar to navel and fed her intestines to the dogs.

His teacher had punished him for his lack of finesse.

"Were you there?" Dean asked, his voice low and tense and belying the stillness in his body. "Did you watch me?"

Castiel bit his lip, abandoning his half-eaten meal and setting it on the small bedside cabinet, before he righted himself and turned to face Dean. "No," he said, earning an exasperated sound from the Hunter. "I did not watch you, then."

"Then how do you know what happened? What I felt?" Dean demanded, mimicking Castiel's actions and setting his food to one side, getting to his feet. He knew it was stupid, but he felt more in control when his head was higher than the other creature's. "How can you possibly know if you weren't there?"

"Because I know _you_ ," Castiel hissed back, not moving to stand but glaring up at Dean with defiance. "I've known you longer than anyone."

"How can you?" Dean snapped, gesturing towards Castiel, and the dog bit his lip, dropping his eyes again. "How dare you tell me you know me when you can't even tell me how? Fuck's sake, Cas, my memory of you's so wiped how am I supposed to believe anything coming out of your mouth?"

Castiel sighed, his shoulders slumping. Dean wouldn't have heard what he said next if he hadn't been listening so hard for it: "I don't believe in forcing free will."

He frowned. "What?"

"Free will, Dean," Castiel replied, biting out the words and getting to his feet, turning around to level the Hunter with his stare. "That's the whole point of this entire fucking _project,_ alright? My job –" He pointed to himself, forefinger jabbing his chest harshly. "- that I have sworn to do, is to protect you and to follow wherever you lead."

"Wherever I…? What the fuck does that even _mean?_ "

"It means _neutrality,_ Dean," Castiel hissed, stepping around the bed so that he stood between Dean and the door, and the Hunter was trapped between him and the bed with nowhere to look but Castiel's face. "And you have _no_ , no fucking idea, how difficult that is."

"What do you mean?" Dean's voice had lost all of its strength now – he was breathless, his heart hammering in his chest because that electric feeling was building up in the room again – the tense, powerful crackle down his spine that meant he was probably about to get attacked by something. He could see the fire in Castiel's eyes. "Neutral for what?"

"The Angels…" Castiel stepped forward again, voice softer this time, and it was a miracle Dean didn't flinch when he rested a hand against the Hunter's chest. "They want you. The demons want you." Castiel snarled, and suddenly Dean was being turned, back slamming against the wall as Castiel's hand curled into a fist in his shirt and he could feel that invisible power pushing his body flat against the wall, so he had no escape. " _I_ want you. But you have to choose. You have to…"

For a long, incredibly long moment, everything was still. Castiel could hear Dean's heart racing inside of his chest, adrenaline and fear soaking his skin. Inside his head he was snarling, eyes focused on the throat – but then it was gone, vanished away, and he stepped back and released Dean with a small gasp, almost stumbling in an effort to get a safe distance away from the man who was making him shake apart at the seams.

"You have to choose," he repeated, running a hand through his hair, breathing deep. "Humans always have had that privilege."

Dean felt like he couldn't speak, like that power that had so completely pinned him to the wall was still blocking his voice. He could only stare at the hunched form of Castiel, open-mouthed and disbelieving, until he recovered enough to straighten and clear his throat, running a hand through his hair.

"Cas," he said, speaking softly and in a measured tone so as not to startle the creature, as he stepped forward and rested a gentle hand on the back of Castiel's neck, sliding down to his shoulder and squeezing softly. "Listen – the way you said things anyway, it sounds like Heaven and Hell's both got a little bit of a shit agenda, yeah?"

Castiel turned to him, wide-eyed, and nodded but said nothing.

"Well, I mean, I wanna go with the option that saves the most lives," Dean continued with a smile, doing his best to keep calm when his heart was still racing and his palms were clammy. "That already sounds like you've got the best deal. Am I about right with that?"

"A good salesman always presents a deal as the best deal," Castiel muttered, gaze dropping to the floor, but he was stepping close to Dean again, his head down, pressing his face against Dean's shoulder and Dean blew out a huge breath he hadn't realized he was holding, as he felt the last of the tension drain away from the powerful creature's body, and he sighed. "But, yes, my solution has a lot less Hellfire and natural disasters."

"Well then," Dean replied, stepping back just far enough that he could hook his fingers under Castiel's chin, forcing the dog to raise his eyes, "that sounds like the best option on offer, doesn't it? Consider me Team Free Will, and stop worrying yourself stupid. I'm not goin' anywhere."

Castiel looked like he was searching Dean's face, and Dean let him, taking a step back and releasing the creature from his hold. Then, very faintly, Castiel smiled, and closed his eyes, nodding to himself.

"Me," he said. "You're choosing me."

"Sure looks like it," Dean replied with a small smile, scratching at the back of his neck. Why did it feel so much like a Goddamned deal? A million reasons why he should take it back screamed into the back of Dean's mind, but he shoved them away, forcing himself to focus. Castiel _had_ raised him from Hell, and regardless of anything else he owed the guy for that – especially when Dean had apparently wounded him badly in the process.

But…

Dean sighed and shook his head. No. They had all the time in the world to hash out whatever needed hashing out _after_ they stopped the freakin' Apocalypse.

Castiel sighed again, frowning to himself as he absently scratched at where the borrowed t-shirt Dean gave him was sticking and crusting to the wound on his back. It hurt, stung and ached like a dull throb in time with his heartbeat, but he had endured far worse for far less.

The door was still sealed shut, and Dean looked like he had no intention of opening it yet, so with a small sigh Castiel moved to retrieve his half-eaten meal from the bedside table, and leaned against the window while he ate.

He froze.

He put the food down again.

"Dean," he said slowly, upper lip already curling back in a snarl as he felt the Hunter's eyes land on the back of his head. "Wake Sam. We have company."

"What kind of company?" Dean asked, already making a bee-line for the door, and Castiel's sensitive ears could hear the sound of a gun's magazine being checked. He almost smiled.

"Angel." He couldn't help but snarl the word, loud enough that he was sure it was what must have drawn the other creature's attention. Flat brown eyes turned towards him, cold and calculating, and Castiel bared his teeth in a low growl, bracing himself with both hands against the windowsill.

The Angel smirked, folding his hands behind his back, and went back to waiting patiently in Bobby's front yard, eyes focused on the door.

Castiel reattached his scabbard, and he beat Sam and Dean downstairs, his hand resting against the handle of his sword, fingers curling hard enough to white-out the knuckles. When Sam and Dean came down, they were locked and loaded.

He smirked and shook his head. "That won't help," he muttered.

Dean said nothing, approaching the door on silent footsteps, gun held in both hands out in front of him. Sam flanked the other side while Dean took up the side of the door that would open first, leaving Sam behind the cover of the door. Castiel followed close behind, fighting down the urge to insist Dean fall into line behind him: it wouldn't do any good, and the Angels had no reason to threaten him yet.

The door was yanked open by Sam and Dean stepped out, gun trained on the Angel's forehead. "Who are you and what do you want?" he called, his gaze never wavering from the perceived threat, and Castiel stepped out of the door also, flanking him and carefully blocking the view of Sam.

The Angel's eyes raked over Dean in a way that made Castiel snarl, taking another step forward, but he was halted by Dean's arm suddenly across his chest, blocking him. It made the Angel smirk – that self-righteous, arrogant expression that Castiel had so come to hate – as he looked at the exchange.

"Well, well," he said, voice low and booming and it set Castiel's teeth on edge. He hadn't even spared a second glance towards Dean. "If it isn't Daddy's little bitch."

"Uriel," Castiel muttered, chin tilted up in defiance at the name as he suddenly recognized the flare of angel Grace within the vessel. Uriel always had been a very particular, gross shade of green. "What brings you to my kennel?"

The Angel blinked, and Castiel felt a small victory at catching Uriel out – he had no illusions about himself. He was a dog, always had been, and name-calling wasn't the way to get to him. Not anymore. Not even close.

"You've gotten your hands on something that is quite valuable to us," Uriel replied curtly, his eyes flashing to Dean again. Dean's only response was to lift his gun again to aim for Uriel's forehead, his expression flat and set into a frown. "We'd appreciate it back."

"You can go screw yourself," Dean said loudly enough for Uriel to hear. "I'm not some fucking chew toy."

Uriel's mouth twisted into a gross smile. "Cute." This time it was Dean who growled, hand tightening on his gun, and Castiel fought the urge to smile.

"You've got two seconds before I unload my gun into your face," Dean stated. "Angel or not I'll still enjoy it."

" _Dean._ " That was Sam, his concerned hiss behind his brother going largely unnoticed. Castiel held a hand out, asking for Sam's silence – their eyes met, briefly, and Sam looked so Goddamn confused and worried and Castiel wished he had time to explain. There should have been more time to -.

"We have captured Alistair."

Dean and Castiel went tense at the same time. Dean's finger went so tight on the trigger Castiel thought it a wonder the gun didn't fire at all. "How?" he asked, disbelieving. "Why?"

"That is no concern of yours. We know he is close to Lilith –" It was Sam's turn to perk up, indrawn breath and straightened shoulders. "- and he would know her plans on which Seals to attack and break for Sammael's rising."

Uriel paused, looking towards Dean with meaning, and Castiel snarled, taking a step forward and this time firmly planting himself between Dean and the Angel. "No," he hissed, drawing his sword and pointing it accusingly towards Uriel. "Not on your fucking life."

"What?" Dean asked, coming forward, hand curling around Castiel's outstretched sword arm. He was trying to force it down but Castiel was unmovable. "Cas, what's going on?"

"He wants your blade, Dean," Castiel growled, narrowed eyes focused on Uriel's blank, unassuming face. "He wants you to torture Alistair for information on the Seals."

"Who the fuck is Alistair?" Sam demanded from behind them, gaining Dean's attention. " _Torturing_? Dean, what the Hell is going on?"

Dean bit his lower lip, eyes flashing back to Uriel and Castiel, who was now looking at him guardedly, and his recent words flashed in Dean's mind again: _You have to choose._

"Sam, get back inside," Dean ordered, taking a step towards the door. "Give me a minute."

"Dean…"

"I said give me a minute, Cas!" Dean yelled, whirling around and aiming his gun at the creature. He knew it would be useless, but it was the only thing he had. Castiel's eyes were wide, almost afraid, and Dean had no idea why. "So help me God I will use that sigil on you, you got me? _Stay._ "

The order was cruel and he knew it was, treating Castiel like a dog – something deep and buried inside of him felt sick at telling Castiel to do something in such a base and disrespectful way, but he forced himself to ignore it, and he went back inside, closing the door behind Sam and him both and sealing the door so that neither Castiel nor Uriel could, hopefully, get in.

"So, Kerebos," came Uriel's voice, too close for Castiel's comfort, and the creature's shoulders went tense. He growled softly in warning, turning around to face his old brother. "Long time no see." Uriel's eyes felt like a physical touch on Castiel's body – nails in his neck and a knife through his belly. "Hell hasn't been kind to you."

"I'd like to see you last half as long as I did," Castiel hissed, chin raised in defiance as he descended the few stairs from Bobby's porch to be on the same level as Uriel. His sword was still drawn and he held it seemingly casually by his side, but he was ready for a strike at any time and Uriel knew it. "Neat trick, dangling Alistair in front of him like that."

"We really have him, you know."

"Oh?" Castiel raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "And how did you rip a demon from the bowels of Hell?"

"I don't think that's really any of your business," Uriel replied with a sniff, earning a low sound of amusement from Castiel.

"You can't have him."

"You're awfully defiant there, Kerebos," Uriel muttered with a tilt of his head. Castiel's shoulders went tense when he felt the familiar trickling of power in the air that meant Uriel was manifesting his Grace – most likely to summon his blade. Castiel's hand tightened on his own sword. "I think…" There it was, the glint of something metallic but not made by any Earthen metal, flashing towards Castiel, barely parried by his own sword.

The creature snarled and shoved Uriel away, sliding into a fighting stance. He felt weak and his back ached but there was no way in Hell the Angels were getting to Dean without a fight.

"I think someone's let your leash get too long." Uriel twirled his blade, his other hand glowing with Grace, ready to smite, as he smiled. "Time for the choke chain, bitch."

Castiel snarled, and lunged.  



	8. I'm The One Who Gripped You Tight To Screw Over The Other Guys (Part Eight)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, it's just the end of the world. With the three-headed guardian of Hell taking it upon himself to be Dean's personal guard dog, that's the least of the Winchesters' problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

He lunged, and Uriel feinted left, flash of his silver blade in the sunlight the only warning Castiel got, a second too soon for the blade to land, and he darted away, shoving at the Angel's vessel to put space between them, so that the arc aimed for his neck ended up being only a glancing blow against his shoulder. He hissed in pain, placing his free palm against it, able to feel the light seep of blood already beginning to flow. With a thought it was healed, but Uriel was coming back again – a skilled fighter, Uriel had been, and Castiel had forgotten how fast Angels could move.

His blade was the only thing that saved him from a knife in the belly, deflecting upwards, useless, into the air above their heads, but he was too close to get another blow in with the long sword, and so he darted away with a low snarl. The move had twisted his back and he was trying his best to breathe hard through the pain, but it was constant and throbbing in the base of his spine and behind his eyes, and Uriel was already closing in again.

"You're out of practice, Kerebos," came the taunt after not too long a while, and Castiel's upper lip curled back in hatred for the name, uttered with such disdain and derision as he had never been greeted with in Hell – even the lowest scum to ever crawl the Earth had not treated him in such a way. "Did you spend so much time in Sloth?"

"Bite your tongue," he snapped back, swinging his sword to aim for Uriel's neck, hoping to slice him where he stood, without a vessel and useless, but Uriel parried the blow and dove in for a closer shot. "I had my orders."

"And I have mine," Uriel hissed, eyes black with hate, his Grace pulsing with thinly veiled rage, and Castiel snarled again, able to feel the malice directed towards him – for what? For doing his job? What did this _stain_ know of God's word? "And you are getting in the way of doing my job. Stand down, dog, and obey your rightful masters!"

Castiel laughed, loud and bitter, and swung again.

 

 

 

 

Dean couldn't think – could hardly breathe.

They had Alistair.

 _Alistair_.

"Dean?" Sam's hesitant voice snapped him out of his thoughts – the dark part of his brain that had sprung to life under the mention of the name, the name that sent a heavy shudder through Dean's very soul, and caused his mouth to go dry and his fingers to itch for a weapon. He was all too aware of the fact that he was still gripping his gun very tightly. "Dean? Are you okay? What the Hell's goin' on, man?"

Sam. Sam needed answers – he needed answers that Dean couldn't give – that he _dared_ not give. What would Sam think of him, if he knew the truth? No, Dean couldn't tell him that – not now, not yet. Not until he got more things under control, not until _he_ knew all the pieces of information himself. He dared not.

"Who's Alistair?"

Dean rubbed an unsteady hand over his mouth, swallowing harshly, and tried not to think about the burning metal of the rack against his spine, not to think of the whispers in his ears or the feeling of blood-slick hands on his skin. "Alistair is…he was the demon who kinda...." He gestured vaguely, helplessly, into the air in front of him with his gun. "Welcomed me into the next life, I guess you could say."

Sam's eyes widened in realization, though Dean didn't see the expression on his face because, for the life of him, he couldn't raise his eyes to meet those of his little brother. What would he see there? He didn't want to know. "Oh…" That one syllable felt like a punch, like the air had been forced out of Dean, and he blew out heavily, closing his eyes, shoulders slumping. "And he…the guy outside has him?"

Dean snorted, one corner of his mouth lifting in a thin mockery of a smile. "Guess so," he said, finally raising his eyes to meet Sam's, and shrugged helplessly. "Not gonna lie, I wouldn't mind a few rounds with the son of a bitch…" And how – how many rounds would it take to wash the stain of innocent blood off his hands, to rid his mind of their screams and pleas and the taste of their tears from his tongue's memory? How many? "But I don't know what they think I could do. Guy isn't exactly the nostalgic type."

And Sam had this look on his face, like he was trying to decide whether or not he should say what he was thinking, and Dean let him ponder it over – met his gaze steadily until Sam cleared his throat, dropping the gaze, felt like Dean was staring down Castiel when Sam deferred like that.

"Dean, if they think you can help…you have to try."

Dean raised an eyebrow, his shoulders slumping in surprise as he straightened. He hadn't expected that, not at all – maybe Sam to grill him more on _why_ they thought he could get the answers out of Alistair, or just what Dean meant by 'welcomed me in', or whatever – not a suggestion to go along with it. "You heard Cas, Sammy," Dean replied, angry and defensive. "The Angels – they don't have our best interests at heart. I mean, who knows what the Hell might happen?"

"Alistair has ties to Lilith, Dean," Sam replied, eyes flashing to his older brother's again, voice steely in a way Dean had almost never heard it before. "If we can get even a step closer to hunting that bitch down, then I'm all for it. I mean…" He gestured to the sealed door, expression settling into one of helplessness – he had transitioned from an order to a plea in a way that he knew Dean never failed to bend to. "Do you know how long, how hard, I hunted that bitch? And if we can get her, Dean, make her pay for what she did to you – you went to _Hell_ , Dean, _to Hell,_ and, I mean, with Cas out there defending you…he wouldn't let you get hurt, I know that, I can see it in his eyes, and, I mean, we have to try, Dean. We have to _try_ and get Lilith."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Dean whispered, wide-eyed and breathless. "You want me to interrogate a demon – the demon who -? _Sam -._ "

"We've interrogated demons before, Dean, _tortured them_. You did it to me." Dean pulled up short, then, the breath that held his next argument cut off and leaving him in a soft gasp. "When Meg possessed me, you would have done anything to get her out – I know it, you know it. I want Lilith's head on a stick, and if Alistair is the way to get it…"

Dean shook his head. "I mean, I can do it myself if -."

"No." Dean held a hand up, then, fingers curling, begging for silence. "No," he said, softer this time, straightening. "I -."  
Whatever Dean may have said next was lost, then, as suddenly an image slammed into place behind his eyes – it was sharp, jagged-edged and sudden when he saw it, disorienting in how quickly it came and disappeared again. It was an image of him, standing in front of the soul of a screaming young man. Dean's arm was soaked in blood, his hand fisted tight around a blade that glistened with blackened liquid. He was smiling, body turned away from whoever it was whose eyes saw the image, but he was looking over his shoulder, free hand stretched out in invitation.

His voice, darker and lower with octaves that he had never heard before, whispered; "Come on, Cas. Play time."

As soon as it had come, the image was gone, leaving Dean breathless and dizzy. Cold sweat had broken out on his forehead and when he dared to open his eyes again, he was half-collapsed, leaning against Bobby's desk for support, Sam on his other side, frantically calling his name and checking over his body in the instinctual pattern they had both developed after a hunt – chest, belly, shoulders, neck: the important parts first.

"S'm," he whispered, blowing out a harsh breath through his mouth – could not breathe through his nose because the room stank of blood. He reached out weakly, clutching at Sam's jacket as his little brother pulled him to his feet. "Sam, what -?"

Another image slammed into him, hard enough to startle a cry out of him as he stumbled again. This time his face, closer to whoever was watching him, arms stretched out like he was holding someone's face, and Dean could feel the pressure of his thumbs under his eyes, like he was the person through whose eyes he was looking, seeing himself. Dean – the Dean in the image – his eyes were too black, pupils too wide to be normal, his lips chapped and pale and Dean could feel his own heartbeat stutter at the smile.

"There's my good boy," the Dean in the image whispered, with all those octaves again – only not so much his voice, Dean realized, but as though he was being heard by many ears, one sentence echoing many times. Then, he grinned, standing straight and gesturing for whoever was watching to follow. "Come on, we got ourselves a hunt."

Dean returned to himself gasping, drenched in sweat like he had once again undergone Hellfire crawling up his arms, burning his skin. He felt the sudden, irrational fear that he was burning alive, before his surroundings caught up with him and he realized he was still in Bobby's living room, Sam watching him like Dean really had gone crazy now, this furrow to his brow like he was about to seal Dean away in the panic room and investigate the cause himself.

Dean knew it, though – could taste sour meat and Hellfire at the back of his throat – and he raised his eyes to the door. "Cas," he whispered, and Sam's eyes followed him, widening in understanding. Castiel was in trouble.

 

 

 

 

 

Castiel was in trouble.

His vessel was screaming in pain, howling in his ears that he wasn't sure was coming from his own mouth, or conjured in his head – it was deafening, and he was breathing so hard, the air cold and abrasive against his skin.

"Submit, dog," came the harsh order, the knife twisting until Castiel hissed and convulsed in pain, his sword clattering to the ground below him. Uriel smiled in triumph, black eyes flashing in glee, and snapped his other hand towards him, abruptly tightening the chain around Castiel's throat and pulling it tight so that the dog was forced to his knees.

That was how Sam and Dean found them – Uriel's blade protruded from Castiel's chest, just shy of his heart, and it was bleeding heavily, enough to color the front of him red. His wound on his back had reopened, shirt sticking to him on all sides, red and raw and surely painful.  
With a wave of his hand the slack end of the chain attaching Castiel to Uriel grew stiff, solidified into a long rod reminiscent of what dog handlers use for feral animals, so that Castiel could safely be kept at arm's length no matter how hard he struggled. The thin links around his neck dug into his skin, and it was so difficult to breathe, to swallow.

Castiel's eyes flashed to Dean, wide and afraid, and saw the panic mirrored in the Hunter's own. "Stop!" Dean demanded, rage sparking in his eyes. He was leaning heavily on his brother, his skin pale and sickly in the morning light. He looked like a man recently woken from a fever, but the strength of the ire directed at Uriel belied his sallow appearance. "Stop this right the fuck now!"

"You need a better leash on this animal, Dean Winchester," Uriel replied coolly, tugging on the long metal bar for effect, forcing Castiel to hiss and follow or risk choking. "I've taken the liberty of harnessing him, but I will not tolerate insubordinance, no matter whom from."

Dean's upper lip curled back in a snarl. "Heal him," he ordered, finally stepping away from Sam and unslinging the weight of his arm from Sam's shoulder. "Heal him, and I'll come with you."

"Dean," Castiel gasped – the collar was making it hard to speak but he tried, tried to push himself to his feet only to be shoved back down by Uriel's restraints. "Dean, don't, please -."

Uriel's smirk was triumphant. "Deal," he replied, still cool and casual, and yanked at the bar, forcing Castiel to awkwardly stumble to his side or be dragged along on his knees. The Angel crouched down, unceremoniously yanking his blade from Castiel's chest, revealing the darkly-colored wound left behind, before he rested a hand against Castiel's head. No sooner had Castiel snapped at him, able to feel the perverse glow of Heavenly Grace soothing his aches and knitting his body back together, than Uriel stood, bar keeping Castiel's mouth a safe distance away from him. Within the short struggle in which Castiel recognized this distance, he realized that Uriel had also healed the burn along his spine. He smirked, just a little, able to feel the relieved stretch of his incorporeal wings without pain. A foolish mistake, Uriel had made.

"Come with me, then, Righteous Man," Uriel said, holding his hand out, and Dean swallowed, looking at the hand, and abruptly seeing his own hand similarly extended, towards Castiel, covered in blood. He could taste it.

"Let Cas go," he said, but took a step forward anyway.

 

"Dean," came Castiel's terse admonishment, at the same time Uriel chuckled.

"Demanding one, aren't you?" he said, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head to one side, but Dean said nothing in reply, instead taking another step forward. "I'll tell you what – you come with me right now, and I'll let your precious hound go when you get me my answers."  
Dean swallowed, his jaw clenching in anger but his expression resolute as he crossed the remaining distance. "Dean, don't -." Castiel begged, only to be cut off again by another twist of Uriel's wrist, gasping and clawing at the metal links around his neck to try and loosen them.

"I do this," Dean said, stopping just out of reach of Uriel's offered hand, "you let Cas go. Your beef's with me, got it?"

Uriel's eyes flashed in absolute delight, and he smiled wide, and reached forward to touch two fingers to Dean's forehead without a word. Sam abruptly started forward, a warning shout of his brother's name lost to the three of them as they disappeared in a flutter of wings and a wounded cry from Castiel.

 

 

 

 

They had him. Son of a bitch, they actually had him.

He was changed to a pentagram, surrounded by a Devil's Trap, and the chains were made of iron, and the air reeked of salt. "You're really afraid of this mother, aren't you?" Dean couldn't help but ask, turning around to face both Uriel and Castiel, who were stood a little way off from him, watching stoically as he had approached the door.

"Dean," Castiel murmured before Uriel could reply, voice soft and sincere, eyes begging. "Please, please don't go in there."  
Uriel hissed, twisting at the bar enough that the chain around Castiel's neck tightened and the dog was cut off with a low whine. "The sooner you start, the sooner you can finish and the mutt can be reunited with his master, got it?"

Dean swallowed – he didn't understand. The images of Castiel and him in Hell were fresh and new in his head, all that he could think about. Somehow, he and Castiel had developed some kind of report in Hell, some kind of friendship – _if only he could just remember._

He swallowed, looking back over his shoulder. His heartbeat stuttered in fear, but he couldn't deny he felt a small amount of excitement, too – he had long awaited, yearned for, an opportunity to turn the blade back on the son of a bitch who had trained and broken him so well. Not only that, but a small part of him held hope as well – if there was anyone who would know what Castiel was to him, it would have been Alistair. Perhaps he could taunt the demon into giving him the answers he wanted, not just the ones he needed.

"I go in there," he whispered, voice hoarse, "you may not like what comes back out."

Castiel's whine was like a pained dog. "Please, Dean, I'll give anything for you not to do this -." Another whine, Uriel undoubtedly tightening the chain. Dean's eyes closed, imagining the bite of the collar into Castiel's thin, white skin, and the pain he must be in with the iron digging into his flesh so roughly.

"Cas, I have to," he whispered, unsure if the dog could ever hear him, before he squared his shoulders and set his jaw, and shoved his way through the door into the other room. Castiel's plaintive whine followed him through.

He had been prepared to look upon what he saw with hate, with rage and remembered injustices placed upon his body – he hadn't deserved Hell, he knew that then, he knew it now even if he only admitted it to the dream he had been trapped in, but Alistair had managed to turn that thought – that pure knowledge in his head – into something warped and unjustified. He remembered every thrust of the blade, every twist of the knife between his ribs, snapping them and cracking them. He remembered the feel of blood-slick fingers pushing at his thighs, sliding down his throat, wrapping around his shoulders and his chest and his flanks as though he had been owned, on that rack. It all came back so abruptly – usually something he knew only in sleep, and had been protected against since Castiel arrived – so suddenly, that for a moment all Dean could do was stand and simply stare.

Alistair's head lolled towards him, dry lips cracking a smile. "Well, if it isn't Daddy's good little soldier," he sing-songed, whistling low under his breath through his bared teeth. Dean's very being shuddered with hatred: he could feel his lip twitching in an instinctive snarl, as without a word he began to shuck off his coat, folding it over the back of a chair, and turned to look at the array of instruments and torture devices that the Angel had prepared for him. "What brings you here, my pretty student? Come back for more?"

"I imagine the Angels have explained precisely what they want from you," Dean replied, proud of himself that his voice didn't waiver, and he picked up and examined a large, old-fashioned syringe, eyes darting between that and the jar of Holy Water. With a smile he dipped the tip in, pulling back on the plunger to fill it. "Now, this can go easy, or real easy." When it was full, he turned back towards Alistair, stepping into the confines of the Devil's Trap and laying the tip, beading droplet of water still clinging and sizzling on his teacher's skin. "Tell me Lilith's plans for the Seals."

Alistair breathed deep, humming, eyelids fluttering towards Dean. His body arched against the pentagram, fingers flexing in his chains. "You never were one for foreplay," he mused, smiling wide and crookedly, "but I know I'm in for a real treat, aren't I?"

Dean's mouth twisted into a grim, excited smile. He thrust the needle deep into Alistair's flesh, just above his heart, and pushed down on the plunger. The demon screamed, white going off behind his eyes as the Holy Water flushed into his bloodstream, soaking into his pores and burning him from the inside out.

"Good," Dean hissed, leaning in so close that he could have kissed the demon if he wanted to. "You were always good at taking it."

Alistair laughed again, a high-pitched, hysterical cackle, and Dean barely suppressed his snarl of disgust, yanking the syringe out just to admire the black flow of Holy Water through the demon's veins, tainting his blood. "No, sweetheart," Alistair sang as Dean turned away to retrieve his next instrument. "I believe that was you."


	9. I'm The One Who Gripped You Tight To Screw Over The Other Guys (Part Nine)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, it's just the end of the world. With the three-headed guardian of Hell taking it upon himself to be Dean's personal guard dog, that's the least of the Winchesters' problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Dean had never been able to know what drove monsters, things that they hunted, to such perverse hunger as for flesh or blood of humans – what made people go crazy and start eating each other, what turned a normal man into little more than a demon bound for Hell.

He knew it now. It was hunger – he could taste Alistair's blood in his mouth, now, with every little nick of the knife, slice of needle, sizzle of Holy Water against his former master's skin. He could taste it in the air, saline and iron and blood and he longed for the slide of it down his throat, thirsted for his master's touch. The rage was like fire in his blood, barely tempered ire and hatred for the thing that had taken him from a man – a weak, damaged man, but still a man – and turned him into that monster, that animal. He looked upon Alistair and he hated.

"Now, look here," he whispered, leaning in close, close enough that he knew the demon could smell the life and Hellfire still clinging to him, his throat bared to snarling teeth, fingers curling around the back of the demon's neck to hold his head still. "I don't care what those Angel dicks want with you – they can go screw themselves, as far as I'm concerned. You know I don't want to hear anything about that."

"Please," Alistair hissed, spitting his blood out, a thin red stream that splashed against Dean's shoes. "Don't tell me you're trying to appeal to my _ego._ "

Dean's smile could have charmed the venom from a snake, then, as he pressed the tip of the demon-killing knife against the hollow of Alistair's throat, tilting his head up. Eyes, whited-out and glazed, met his own, blackened with hunger and hatred. "Your ego's bigger than most," the Hunter said, Cheshire Cat smile barely hiding his snarl of contempt, and Alistair had to smile, proud of Dean's meaning then. "I know that as well as you do."

Alistair hummed, baring his bloodied teeth again. "Do you miss it?" he crooned, partially out of curiously, mostly because he knew it would make Dean angry – and it did. The smile faded, his shoulders drew in, and he shoved himself away with an enraged snarl. "Do you miss _me_ , boy?"

"I don't need you to know where Lilith is," Dean replied, rounding on Alistair once he had reached the table the Angels had provided him, laden with instruments of torture, and he picked up the flask of what remained of the Holy Water, advancing on Alistair again – if he could not twist and entice the answers out of the demon, he was just fine beating them out instead. "I can hunt that bitch down myself."

"Oh?" Alistair replied with a raised eyebrow, tilting his head back, chin lifted in defiance. His wrists rolled in his restraints. "How do you figure that?"

Dean tilted his head to one side, smirk returning to his face. "Aw, come on, don't play coy with me. You know exactly who I have on my side."  
"Ah, yes." The wrists stopped rolling, long white fingers clenching tightly into fists. " _Kerebos_."

"He doesn’t like being called that, you know," Dean replied conversationally, taking another step forward. He put his thumb over the end of the flask, flicking it at Alistair – a warning and a reminder – and smiled grimly when he watched the demon writhe and hiss from the pain of it. "But yeah – pretty powerful dog like that's gotta have some good hunting skills, wouldn't you think? So let's drop this and get down to business, Alistair."

His words were accompanied by a roll of Alistair's whited-out eyes, and Dean repressed a shudder – his eyes had turned grey, for a time, dulled by Hell and tainted by sin. How long would it have taken for them to go completely white? Was that even possible, or would his have turned black like every other? "What, pray tell, would you like to hear, boy?" the demon hissed, spitting out another stream of blood that smeared against Dean's shoulder, down the bare skin of his arm. Dean barely gave a sign of noticing.

The Hunter breathed out, slowly, searching his old master's face for a long time. He had to play this carefully, now – if Alistair figured out just what Dean was asking, he would never get the answer. Not without paying a terrible price. "Seems weird," he said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug, "that I'd be dragged out by some diseased mutt when the Angels came for me. Where was my ever-attentive teacher, hmm?"

And at that, Alistair began to chuckle – low and throaty and rough like a dying animal. His breaths were a wheeze and when he hung his head forward, he sounded in danger of suffocating. But Dean forced himself to wait the demon out, clenched his jaw and staid his hand from dealing another blow, because losing himself to his emotions now would just lose him his answers, and possibly cost him his time with Alistair, and the demon was too precious, too valuable, to lose his temper and kill just yet.

"That precious puppy," Alistair cackled, rolling his eyes and lifting his head once more to speak, "followed you around like a wallflower at her first dance. Fucking _sickening,_ is what it was." He shrugged – or at least, his shoulders rolled, but he couldn't really shrug, chained as he was. "Never hurts to get in some practice, though."

Dean's brow furrowed at that. From the two scenes that had suddenly slammed into his mind during Castiel and Uriel's fight, he had not had another vision or any more feeling of familiarity towards Castiel than he had before. It was getting frustrating, knowing he was missing something important because his own damn mind wouldn't recall the images for him. "I don't remember," he hissed out, angry with himself and turning away.

The sound Alistair let out was positively gleeful. "Memory loss?" he asked, and Dean could _hear_ the pleasure in his voice – when he closed his eyes it was like nothing had changed, and he was back in Hell with his master singing praises about his skill and deftness with his knife. The blonde's death had been quick, but her successor – Dean had learned his mistake then. He took his time with the second. "Memories are like matter – fake memories lake a certain substance, I think. They cannot truly be created or destroyed." He hummed to himself. "If you cannot remember your precious Hellbitch, it is because someone is keeping it from you."

 

 

 

 

Castiel had been given some slack from the leash when Dean went into the room housing the demon. The walls were not thick, and Castiel could hear the occasional scream. His hearing, sharper than most and more sensitive to Dean's voice than others, could pick up the occasional word from the Hunter's speeches, but mostly it was vague, white noise, and he knew not what was happening on the other side, and it was driving him insane.

"Hell's turned you into something else," Uriel said after a while, absently winding and unwinding his end of Castiel's leash through his fingers and back again, seemingly bored with the whole affair. Castiel snarled but said nothing in reply. "I hardly recognize you for a brother anymore."

"No one recognized me for a brother _before_ , you all know that," Castiel hissed, stopping himself from pacing more and returning to where Uriel was sat, braced against what looked like had once been an old park bench. It was rotting now and the nails were sticking out of the bench seats, and Castiel sat, idly toying with a loose nail. "Please, do not pretend you have any love for me now, Uriel. I cannot take it from more than one at a time."

Uriel snorted. "This human," he said, gesturing vaguely towards the closed door. "You believe he loves you."

"I said do not pretend," Castiel snapped back defensively, shoulders hunched forward. He sighed, then, closing his eyes, and braced himself forward on one arm against the tabletop, rubbing the heel of his hand over his eyes. "I remember, when we were both much younger, when Father first talked about humans. Do you?" Uriel gave a vague assenting sound. "I always thought it such a weird idea – to make things that would not mindlessly obey, but choose. It seemed so…messy." He paused again, rubbing the same hand over his mouth, stifling a small sound behind his palm. "I suppose I understand better now."

"Are you pretending to know our Father's will?" Uriel asked with barely disguised derision, raising an eyebrow towards Castiel, only to receive a self-deprecating laugh and a shake of the dog's head.

"No," he replied, standing. His hand dropped the nail he had been holding, dug out from the worn wood of the table, and he lifted up the hem of his borrowed shirt, revealing a small scale version of the Angel banishing sigil, carved into his own flesh. Uriel's eyes widened and he jumped to his feet, but it was too late – Castiel laid his hand across the mark, and they both vanished in a flash of white light.

 

 

 

 

 

Dean swallowed, still reeling from what Alistair had told him. "If…someone's blocking my memory…who could do that?" he asked, and he knew he was giving himself away, appearing too eager, but fuck, someone was messing with his _mind_.

Alistair rolled his shoulders again. "Anyone who knew your head well enough to navigate it. Me, for example." He grinned wide, then, showing his bloodied teeth once more, and Dean swallowed again, fists clenching. He knew the demon was baiting him, but it was working. "Or that mutt of yours…Why don't you ask him?"

Dean couldn't – wouldn't – answer. _Demons lie_ , he told himself firmly. _They lie_.

But.

"Don't tell me you _trust_ him?" Alistair whispered, barely disguised contempt for Dean's weakness in his voice – Dean knew that tone well. He had heard it from his father and from his teacher and from his own head too many times not to recognize it for what it was – disappointment, disgust, hatred. Alistair laughed again and Dean turned away, taking in a deep breath. "Oh, what a misguided lamb you are, little soldier! Your starved need for affection makes you weak, vulnerable – pathetic!"

The demon would tell him no more – Dean knew this as well as he breathed, and so he picked up the demon-killing knife, and turned to face Alistair on the pentagram. But Alistair was no longer on the pentagram – no, he was significantly closer, smiling too wide and standing on his own two feet, close enough to Dean that he could reach out, and he did, and flung Dean backwards with his power, hard enough that the Hunter hit the wall and heard his shoulder crunch.

He curled up on himself, trying to assess the damage – he was pretty sure his shoulder had either dislocated itself or been shattered somehow, he couldn't move his fingers – but Alistair was relentless, kneeling over Dean's body, long fingers cradling the line of his throat like they were meant to fit there. Another memory hit Dean, then – there was a monster in the room, something huge and black and bleeding fire, and when it roared the foundations shook, and Dean was in pain, face throbbing with blows, spine burning with inlaid iron, and the beast lunged for him, he was sure intent to finish him off. But it didn't – it tore at the iron in his back, blackening its own maw and burning its throat in an attempt to free him, one huge shadow falling over Dean's body in a protective stance. When Dean reached out, he could feel feathers.  
But then it was not a memory. It was real – really happening, because Dean gasped suddenly, and he could breathe, and Alistair was not holding onto him anymore. The demon was screaming, and there was the sound of a great beast in the room.

When Dean finally opened his eyes, Castiel was there, kneeling over the demon, one hand curled into claws and dug deep into Alistair's chest. His eyes were glowing with the white light of his Heavenly persona, his jaws parted and baring serrated teeth, bared in anger at the demon, and Alistair was writhing against the floor, reaching out to desperately try and get a handle on Castiel.

And when he blinked, their positions were reversed, Alistair closing his hand around Castiel's throat, pressing the dog's head back against the floor, and the demon spat blood onto Castiel's face in disgust. "Insect," he hissed. "I know just how to get rid of you."

He lifted his chin in defiance, staring down at Castiel, and began to speak – words Dean didn't recognize falling from his bloodied lips, but they were obviously having an effect on Castiel. The glow of his eyes was brightening, like the red of a demon's soul being driven from its body, and when Castiel threw his head back and screamed, it was in his mouth too, and he was struggling underneath Alistair, nails desperately clawing at the demon's arm and face, and the harsh fluorescent lights above cast the shadows of his convulsing wings on the floor.

The sight, of seeing Castiel in such pain, forced Dean into action. He stood, hissing at the sudden, intense pain in his shoulder, and shifted the blade into his left hand. He was behind Alistair, and the demon didn't see him coming – he plunged the knife straight into Alistair's back, between the ribs, around the front of the spine, piercing the heart. Alistair's scream joined Castiel's for a moment, and then they were both silent.

Dean yanked the knife back out and let it clatter to the floor, shoving at Alistair's shoulder weakly to try and get him off Castiel. After a moment, he could feel the creature helping him, and so Dean stopped his meager efforts, instead cradling his shoulder and slowly lowering himself to the floor with another wince.

He couldn't stop himself flinching when Castiel reached for him. The dog bit his lower lip, then, after a split second of hesitation, he laid his hand against Dean's forearm. Almost immediately Dean could feel the pain recede, and he wiggled his fingers experimentally, finding his shoulder repaired fully, and nodded his thanks, still silent.

"Thank you," Castiel said after another long moment of silence. He had blood around his mouth and hands, and Dean licked his lips, finding it distracting. The stench of his master's blood in here, and the recent fight, had left him strung out on adrenaline with no release. His hands were shaking.

He hummed, rubbing the back of his neck and quickly checking around the room. "Where's tweedle-dum?" he asked, not able to see Uriel lurking anywhere.

Castiel made a soft sound, smiling just a little at Dean, shyly, looking down at the floor. "I banished him."

Dean raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. "How'd you manage that with the…?" He trailed off, then, gesturing vaguely to his own neck to indicate the collar, which was still tightly fastened around Castiel's neck. "You can take that off, now, you know."

"…Oh." Castiel flushed at that, swallowing harshly and absently picking at the blood crusting on his hands. "Um, actually, I, ah, can't." At Dean's questioning look, his flush darkened, and he wouldn't meet Dean's eyes. Wherever the Hellbeast had been before, it was nothing under Dean's stare. "It's spelled. I cannot remove it myself. Someone else has to."

The meaning in Castiel's words was unmistakable, and though Dean's body shivered at the idea of being so close to Castiel, now, covered as he was in his old teacher's blood and still with Dean's own inner animal barely reined in, Dean didn't know if he had it in him to remove the collar now. But he owed Castiel that much, and he could see the redness where the links of chain had been digging into Castiel's neck, so he shoved himself forward, relieved when he could brace himself on his injured arm no problem, and knelt in front of Castiel, settling back on his heels. He could see no fastening in the front, but around the back of Castiel's neck there was a small fault in the chain – a give, a gap, where there should not have been one. Cautiously Dean reached forward and touched it, squeezing against one link and threading the other back through, and the chain split apart, and Castiel let out an audible sigh when Dean unthreaded it from around his neck, letting it fall.

"Thank you," the dog murmured, lifting a hand to rub at his sore skin. Already the redness was fading away as his natural healing ability kicked in, and he turned to meet Dean's eyes, where the Hunter was kneeling behind him. "That feels much better."

"How did you banish that Angel?" Dean asked, pulling the link of chain through his hands, almost absently, staring down at the fine metal links running across his palm. It seemed too thin, too weak, to keep something that he knew was as powerful and big as Castiel down, and he knew he should probably throw it away, but it was either fiddle with the thing or watch the blood dry on Castiel's face, so he stuck with the collar. Besides, it would be foolish to throw away such an obvious method of restraint when it had proven so effective – although, come to think of it, Dean wondered if Castiel had really been so restrained at all, or if he had merely obeyed Dean's orders and desires and submitted to his will.

Sheepishly, Castiel smiled, and lifted up the borrowed shirt he wore high enough that Dean could see the already-faded scar of the banishing sigil carved into his flank, just above his hipbone. Around it, too, was drying blood, but this wound did not stink of demonic Hellfire, and Dean knew Castiel had done this to himself. "You gotta stop getting wounds like this," Dean murmured, shaking his head with a small sigh. "Did it hurt?" he asked, reaching forward despite himself, fingertips barely brushing the raised edges.

Castiel's smile was faint, and he pressed his lips together, but said nothing for or against it. Dean sighed heavily, taking that as an answer in itself, and pushed himself to his feet. Wordlessly, he held his hand out for Castiel, and after a moment's hesitation the creature took it and allowed himself to be pulled up as well. "We need to get the Hell outta here. You got back pretty fast, I guess, so that winged douche can't be far behind. We'll hot-wire a car and -."

"No need," Castiel replied with a wave of his hand, stepping forward and pressing two fingers to Dean's forehead. "I can fly now."


	10. I'm The One Who Gripped You Tight To Screw Over The Other Guys (Part Ten)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, it's just the end of the world. With the three-headed guardian of Hell taking it upon himself to be Dean's personal guard dog, that's the least of the Winchesters' problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Castiel's way of air-travel was not like Uriel's – whereas the Angel's flight had left Dean feeling vaguely like a glass vase that had been smashed to pieces and clumsily reassembled with sticky tape and glue, and had left him with a vague nausea and desire to throw up, Castiel's was in comparison a lot gentler. Instead of simply being thrown across space or time or whatever, it was like he was very gently, very delicately picked up by the scruff of his neck, and unceremoniously dumped back into the here and now. So strong was the feeling, in fact, that he stumbled upon impact with his feet against the ground outside of Bobby's house, and he had to take a moment, rubbing the back of his neck because he felt the oddest pressure there, as though some great animal had carried him, dangling, from its jaws and set him back down.

To say the atmosphere was tense would be an understatement. Without a word or gesture of thanks, Dean turned his back on Castiel and returned to Bobby's house – the Impala was gone, and when Dean stepped inside he couldn't shake the too-real feeling that the house was too empty.

"Sam?" he called out, cautiously, eyes searching what he could see from his place in front of the door – with both he and Castiel gone, Dean didn't find it too big a stretch for the imagination to come up with several different scenarios of what could have happened here while they'd been gone. He didn't like the idea that Sam and Bobby were left on their own, when something big was brewing, and though he trusted the sigils and Bobby's skill, there were beginning to deal with things beyond their ken and it didn't sit right with Dean to know that his closest family were off his radar.

"Went on a food run," came Bobby's reply, from the kitchen, and he held up two beer bottles and a half-empty bottle of pickles, like evidence. "This is pretty much all we got 'nless you got a hankerin' for baking soda and ginger ale."

Dean cracked a smile, shaking his head. "Nah," he replied, rubbing a hand over his mouth, and Bobby grunted, holding up the beers a second time in offering. Dean shook his head again, turning to look over his shoulder to where Castiel was still hovering around the place where the Impala had been parked. He looked like he was sniffing for something, shoulders bent and hand pressed low to the ground. "Hey!" Castiel's head snapped up, eyes blacker than Dean would have expected from the amount of sunlight outside, and the Hunter knew it was the Hellish part of Castiel that was closer to the surface now. "Come here."

The dog rose to his feet, fluidly, and behind him the shadow of his true form's wings snapped outwards for balance, before he walked over to Dean. His head was cocked to one side, eyes with very blue left to them staring Dean down like a challenge. It was such a contrast to the shy, almost coy behavior Castiel had displayed in Alistair's torture room that for a moment Dean was taken aback – he'd forgotten that the Hellfire part of Castiel, the part that he had first met and the part that was undoubtedly the most dominant of him, was a wolf amongst sheep.

"I need to talk to you," he said, pointing at Castiel, and stepped back to let the creature pass, gesturing behind him towards the basement. For another moment Castiel merely stared at him, blackened eyes – this close Dean could only see a faint edge of white – looking Dean up and down, almost sizing him up, Dean thought, before he acquiesced with a small nod of his head, and followed Dean's direction, heading towards the basement.

Dean reached into his pocket, fingers curling around the thin links of metal that had made Castiel's collar, and he took a deep breath. Should things go south, he supposed he still had that to leverage with.

Dean rubbed his hand over his mouth again as they traipsed down the stairs towards the basement. His hands smelled of blood and salt, and they stung at his nose. He wanted to have a shower, clean himself up, rub the stench of Hellfire out of his skin, but questions were buzzing around the back of his head – clean as he was on the outside, he would not be able to erase his old teacher's taunts and words from his mind no matter how hard he tried. Not without getting answers and Castiel was the best person here for that kind of job.

Besides, if what Alistair had said was true – _demons lie, though, they lie_ – and Castiel _was_ messing with his head, well, he'd rather hear it from the dog himself.

He closed the door to the basement behind them, and shivered at the low growl that escaped Castiel when the room was sealed shut. He wasn't going to force Castiel into the panic room – if he could even get in there – and he hoped that the wards on this door would be enough to weaken, or at least deter, the creature.

Castiel was watching him expectantly when he flicked the light on and halted one step above ground level. The dog stood straighter now that he wasn't injured, weak bulb flickering above them casting his silhouette on the floor. All of a sudden, the house didn't feel quite so empty. Not by a long shot.

And Dean took a moment to collect himself, coming downstairs. Castiel watched him without a word, and whether he was nervous or curious or expectant, Dean couldn't begin to guess. It was hitting him all over again, just how little he knew about this creature, and just how much that bothered him.

After another long moment of silence, wherein Dean was trying to gather himself, ordering his thoughts in a way that sounded like logical and reasonable questions and not the interrogation he felt like conducting, Castiel sighed, loosening from his almost military position, and sat himself down on the stairs, fingers laced across his stomach and leaning back against the higher step, legs splayed out wide and relaxed. "Penny for your thoughts?" he asked, and his eyes were darker, so much darker in this light – Dean felt like he was looking at a demon. He wondered if his own were any better.

Dean straightened up, pressing his lips together for a moment, before wetting them with his tongue. Maybe he should have taken one of Bobby's beers. Without a word, he curled his fingers around the link of chain that Castiel's collar had been, pulling it out of his pocket slowly enough that Castiel could definitely see what it was, and placed it on one of the table flanking Bobby's walls. The dog went tense, seeing it, eyes narrowing and upper lip curling back in a snarl.

"When we first met," Dean said, slowly, tasting the words carefully before letting them out, "you said that you were one of the most powerful creatures…well, ever. Only God and Death were bigger bads than you."

Castiel cocked his head to one side, but made no other move.

"How does a stunt Angel like Uriel get the drop on ya, huh?"

The creature sighed, letting his head fall back so that he was staring up at the ceiling, the light bulb above them flickering faintly. He was silent and Dean let him be, though the Hunter was faintly thrumming with impatience and his fingers were curling into fists again. He stuffed them into his pockets to hide it.

"Uriel is a good fighter," Castiel said after another moment, head rolling forward again to stare at Dean. He ran a hand through his hair, shrugging one shoulder in an almost embarrassed, sheepish gesture. "I guess I got used to things that didn't fight back."

"Bull _shit_ ," Dean hissed, anger burning in him now, and he took a step forward without thinking. Castiel's eyes flashed to his, dark and guarded. "You're hiding things from me. How can you expect me to go along with your plan, or whatever the Hell it is you want me to do, when I can't trust you?"

Castiel raised an eyebrow, looking cool and calm as ever, and for a reason Dean couldn't quite name it made him even angrier. "What is it that you think I'm hiding from you, exactly?"

" _Everything!_ " Dean shouted, advancing on the dog again. Castiel raised his chin in defiance, watching Dean approach, but he made no move to defend himself or to rise to Dean's challenge. "There is a _block_ in my _head_ , Cas – and I sure as Hell didn't put it there. All you got goin' for you is your word, and I gotta tell you, that's lookin' weaker and weaker by the second."

"Do you doubt me, Dean?" Castiel asked, fingers flexing where they rested against his chest. That faint crackle of electricity was in the air again, Dean could taste it, it always happened whenever Castiel looked at him too long. Dean had no idea what it meant, but it made him want to back down – he didn't, squaring his shoulders and forcing himself to stand still.

He breathed out a harsh sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I just want answers, Cas," he said, and with the nickname the electric feeling seemed to vanish – when he opened his eyes again and looked down at the sitting creature, the black had dramatically lessened in Castiel's eyes, enough that he could see a thin ring of blue pupil around the edge. Clearly the demonic part of Castiel was retreating for now, either fought back or appeased by Dean's lack of threat. He crouched down on the balls of his feet, bracing himself with his elbows on his knees so that his head and Castiel's were level – he felt like he could hear another pleased rumble in the air, but wasn't sure if it was real or just his imagination. "Why did you let yourself get caught? Why block my memories?" He paused, tilting his head to one side. "It is you, isn't it? The reason I can't remember?"

"Yes," Castiel whispered in reply, eyes ducking down from Dean's, finally, teeth sinking into his lower lip. "I think so. I had to give you the ability to choose between me, Heaven and Hell. I couldn't sway you in your decision with – with our…relationship."  
Dean raised an eyebrow at the word.

"Friendship," Castiel amended, gesturing between the two of them. "We are…friends, aren't we?"

Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his mouth again. "I don't know, Cas," he replied, helplessly, "'cause I can't remember you."

"I think we are," Castiel replied softly, raising his eyes again to meet Dean's. His pupils were a normal size now – whatever had caused the beast within Castiel to rise to the surface, it was gone now. Then, he shook his head. "I don't know how to remove it, Dean. Or else I would have when you chose, before. I didn't even really intend for it to block me completely, or anything, I – I don't know how it happened. I don't know -."

"Hey, hey, it's fine," Dean said, his voice soothing and low because it looked like Castiel was starting to lose himself again, black and Hellfire in his eyes flaring up brightly. He reached out, lightly touching a hand to Castiel's shoulder, fingers curling round and gently shaking him. The dog's eyes landed on his face, wide, and he was almost breathless. "We'll figure it out, okay, Cas?" The creature nodded, licking his lips. "Yeah, there we go," Dean murmured, smiling, his thumb just lightly rubbing along the collar of Castiel's borrowed shirt. "There's my good boy."

Then, he froze, and Castiel froze with him, a small gasp escaping him. The familiarity of those words struck something in Dean – unbidden, the vision he had during Castiel and Uriel's fight slammed into the backs of his eyelids, hard enough to make him fall to his knees, resting heavily on Castiel and the stairs. Kneeling, Dean was kneeling again in Hell, but this time he was not looking at himself, but he was himself, staring into three pairs of eyes watching him from the shadows. When he reached a hand out, the head of a large dog emerged from the shadows, eyes the color of the deepest pit of Hell, burning red and gross yellow and black around the edges. The head was attached to a long, serpentine neck, scales shining dully in the non-light of Hell, and both the neck and head were littered with scars, and pieces of flesh had been torn off, or rotted away. The head alone was almost as big as Dean, but the dog pressed its muzzle against his hand with a low rumble, and with such gentleness that Dean knew he had nothing to fear from this creature. There were two other sets of eyes watching him, the dog's other heads coming forward – one with shining white eyes and skin the color of brass and steel mixed together like plates of armor, and a third with earthy-brown eyes and fur that felt coarse and thick under Dean's other hand. Dean summoned his blade, releasing the Hellfire head, and raised it for the three heads to see. There was a low hiss of anticipation.

Dean snapped out of the vision with a harsh gasp, breathing in a deep lungful of air like he had been choked. There were hands on him, a frantic voice calling his name, and it took Dean a moment to realize that the voice – Castiel's voice – was not the one with layers and octaves that sounded like it was penetrating Dean's very soul – but it was a human voice, worried and low with anxiety, and the hand splayed wide across his chest did not have claws, but fingers and nails that were digging very slightly into his chest, and another hand was wrapped around his shoulders, preventing him from doing a faceplant onto the floor.

Dean felt cold, and sweat had broken out on his temples and along his hairline. He allowed Castiel to reposition him on the stairs, breathing deep and trying to convince his lungs that, no, he wasn't drowning. It was damned hard, but he managed it.

"I saw you," he whispered, voice hoarse and almost gone. "Cas, I…"

Castiel hesitated. His hand was still on Dean's chest, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb just below the Hunter's collarbone. "I didn’t used to look like that," he said, like a confession, licking his lips as Dean just continued to stare blankly at the floor. "Hell changed me."

Dean snorted bitterly, hand rubbing across his mouth again. He looked pale. He looked sick. "Hell changes everyone, I guess." He sighed, running a hand through his hair and grimacing at the feeling of sweat, making it moist. "Cas, please." And then he turned in place, braced against the stairs and meeting the eyes of the creature. Castiel's hand was still on his chest, whether to act as a guard or to pull him in, though, the dog couldn't decide. "Please, tell me. I want to remember."

"These visions…" Castiel shook his head, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. "They're taking a lot of you, Dean, and you have been through much today. You should rest -."

"I don't _want_ to rest," Dean hissed, grabbing onto Castiel's arm and refusing to let go when the dog flinched on instinct, head ducking just a little, expecting a blow. The action made Dean freeze, his eyes wide, and he carefully, slowly, released Castiel's arm again. "I don't want to rest," he repeated, slower this time, more measured. "Please, Cas, tell me everything. Anything that can help, I want to know."

 

 

 

 

"So. Million dollar question: you going to tell Dean about what we're doing?"

"We've got bigger problems than that."

"Oh? Like what, exactly?"

Sam breathed out, throwing his arms out to either side of him as he turned to regard the petite brunette regarding him with a cool look and a petulant stance. "Look," Ruby said, raising up her hands in defeat. "Maybe I'll just take a step back for a while." At Sam's disbelieving look, she tilted her head to one side, expression almost affectionate. "I mean, I'm not exactly in your brother's fanclub. But he is your brother, and I'm not going to come between you."

Sam sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose and clenching his eyes tightly shut. He was getting a headache. "It's not that, Ruby. It's…" He shrugged, helpless, hands falling back to his sides. "Someone pulled Dean out of Hell."

Ruby's eyes widened, and immediately she shook her head. "No way! Sam! Human souls don't just _walk out of Hell_ and back into their body's easily! The sky bleeds, the earth quakes…" She gestured to the ground beneath them, shaking her head again. "It's cosmic! No demon can swing that! Not Lilith...not anyone!"

"Anyone?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow, and Ruby shook her head again. "What about Cerberus?"

The demon blinked at the name, eyes momentarily going black – it was gone so quickly again, Sam could have convinced himself that he'd imagined it, except he was waiting for her reaction. "Sam," Ruby said, speaking lowly, her voice quavering in a way Sam had never heard it do. She took a step forward; "Where did you hear that name?"

"The guy who almost ripped my throat out called himself that," Sam replied, worried now because of Ruby's reaction – if a _demon_ was scared of it, it was bad news. "And that's not all of it – there's Angels now, and they're trying to find Lilith, and -."

"Sam." Ruby held her hand up, silencing him. The look on her face scared Sam – she looked like the walls were closing in. "You listen to me, and you listen right now. Cerberus is _bad news_ , alright? He's…he's like Lucifer's _bloodhound_ , you got that? He's only loyal to _him_ , and – I can't believe I'm saying this – but if the Angels are in on it, they know it's getting bad too. Oh, Sam…" She took a step back, shaking her head. "This is…this is huge. This is _game-changing._ "

"What is?" Sam asked, advancing on her. "Ruby, what aren't you telling me?"

"Kerebos is bad news, Sam," she repeated, looking up at Sam with wide and fearful eyes. "And if your brother falls under his influence, there's no getting out. They'll never let him go – ever. Sam, you have to stop Dean from trusting him! You have to!"

Sam was bewildered – he had only seen the creature protect and guard both Dean and himself, but then again, the Angels are meant to be the good guys, right? So, how did that factor in if Castiel – _Cerberus_ – was turning Dean against them? What did all of this mean?

"I'm gonna be M.I.A. for a while, Sam."

Her words broke him out of his thoughts. "What? Why?" he demanded, panicking at the idea of not being able to see her, of running out of supply – running out of time, of blood, not being able to meet her and sink his blade into her and drink her dry and -.

"Angels might be better than Kerebos, but neither of them will hesitate in running me through. They smite first and ask questions later." Her eyes searched his face, pleading and scared. "Talk to your brother, Sam, and get him off this path. It will only end horribly for all of us."  
And with that, she was gone, and Sam was left standing behind an old gas station with the idling Impala, wondering just how he was supposed to do that.


	11. I'm The One Who Gripped You Tight To Screw Over The Other Guys (Part Eleven)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, it's just the end of the world. With the three-headed guardian of Hell taking it upon himself to be Dean's personal guard dog, that's the least of the Winchesters' problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Dean had seen someone having a seizure once, when he was a lot younger and had taken Sam to the grocery store because they were out of Lucky Charms and had enough spare cash to maybe buy the kid a chocolate bar of his choice. They seemed like they came out of nowhere – he didn't see much, granted, too eager to get Sam out of the way and not get too involved in something that would make their dad angry, but it sure as hell didn't look like a relaxing afternoon.

The look on the woman's face, Dean thought, was how he felt now. Everything felt far away – he knew, distantly, that he was in Bobby's basement and Castiel was with him, but for the life of him he couldn't make the images he was seeing equate to that knowledge. When he looked up at Castiel, the dog not meeting his eyes and low words spilling from his mouth, he did not see a man, but the beast itself. He could smell the brimstone; feel the heat crawling up his skin like a giant insect, threatening to spin its web around him and swallow him whole.

Castiel's voice was distant and Dean couldn't concentrate on it. But he needed to know – _needed_ to understand and appreciate just what Castiel was to him, what drove the animal to such lengths of devotion and loyalty that Castiel had shown him. Maybe it was the mental block, fighting back this new information? Maybe if Dean pushed just hard enough at the wall, scratched and kicked and fought his way through, this feeling would pass. Maybe he would _finally_ get answers.

Cold sweat had broken out along his forehead and he felt like he couldn't breathe.

"And then Alistair…. He brought you to me, to my brothers." Dean's eyes flashed up to Castiel's face, watched the way the dog's hands fidgeted in his lap and his white teeth sunk into his lower lip. "Said he wanted to organize a hunt for you."

The word conjured up another vague recollection in Dean's head, quick and insubstantial as smoke. He swallowed, trying to clear his throat, but no words came out when he spoke and Castiel kept talking: "It must have been years, between when you'd first entered Hell and I saw you again, but I hadn't forgotten. You were the only soul I had seen in a long time who strode into the Gates of Hell with no hesitance. Fear, yes, but you did not falter when you entered that domain."

Dean's stomach clenched at the words – no, he hadn't hesitated, but he had tried to stop himself going there. He'd been afraid, as Castiel had said – and so, so fucking sad to leave Sam behind. Sam's soul had been the price for his punishment and he would have borne it a thousand times before he knew what exactly that kind of thing entailed. Hell was not for the faint-hearted, and like a faint heart he had broken under its strength.

"And when you came back to me, when I saw you again…" The look on Castiel's face was one of awe, eyes bright and shining with the Heavenly part of him as he raised his eyes to meet Dean's, a small smile just ghosting across his face in a way that Dean wouldn't have seen it had he not been so caught in Castiel's gaze, drawn in and captured like an insect within its protective amber prison. "You still did not falter or fall and I admired you for that. Your soul was bright enough that the hosts of Heaven would have been able to find you, broken or not, and you blinded me."

"How?" Dean whispered, voice raw and ragged. How could he have possibly shone out like Castiel was saying? He had _broken_ , he had _fallen_ , and he had torn into souls like they were pieces of meat, toys, and things to be used up and played with and tossed away.

Castiel shook his head. "I have no idea. But when I saw you, I knew it – you were the man, God's chosen, who would be able to… well." He shrugged one shoulder, shaking his head again, his smile widening in something like affection and pride. "You're the Righteous Man, Dean, strong enough for Michael himself, and I knew that if there was ever a cause to follow, you were it."

Dean swallowed, finally able to break away from the wolf in Castiel's eyes, and looked down at his feet. "Pretty sure your faith's misplaced there, Cas," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck because it meant he wouldn't have to look Castiel in the eye.

But Castiel did not allow him to keep his gaze averted for long – before Dean knew it, and it was troubling him how disconnected he felt from the rest of his environment, and didn't even think to flinch away from Castiel before the dog's fingertips landed against his cheek and he had nowhere to move. Castiel knelt down, forgoing his elevated position on the stairs to instead bring himself down so that he was level with Dean's and their eyes had nowhere to go but each other's. Dean felt like he was being pulled back down into the pit, Castiel's eyes were no longer shining with Heaven but blackened with remembered Hell, and it unnerved him.

"I think I have enough conviction for the both of us," Castiel murmured, his grip on Dean's jaw tightening when the man snorted and tried to pull away. "I am sorry that you don't seem to share my beliefs, Dean, but I'm here now, and I know what I see when I look at you, and I'm not leaving."

"I could send you away," Dean replied, finally ducking his head down when Castiel's grip loosened enough that he could. He didn't miss the flash of hurt in the dog's eyes at those words, but Castiel merely pressed his lips together and remained silent. "And you would go, wouldn't you? If I told you to leave?"

For a moment, Castiel hesitated, and then he nodded, once, sharply. "Yes," he replied, and for some reason that made Dean feel better – he didn't like the idea of having a constant shadow, and it reassured him that Castiel would obey his orders if Dean ever told him to leave. It made Dean _not_ want to do it, in a way – the knowledge that he could quelled the desire to force Castiel out. "I swore myself to obey and protect you, Dean."

Dean laughed – a short, sharp, bitter sound, and rubbed a hand over his face simply because it meant he didn't have to look Castiel in the eye anymore. "Yeah, alright," he said, voice rough, and pushed himself to his feet abruptly. Castiel was quick to follow, and together they made their way back upstairs just in time to hear the rumble of the Impala returning to Bobby's front yard. Knowing it would be Sam, Dean hurried out to help him with the groceries. Castiel did not follow.

"What took you so long?" Dean asked when he reached the trunk, and Sam frowned and joined him around the back – Dean never helped with shit like that. Something must have happened while he was gone.

"You look like Hell," came Sam's helpful reply, and Dean merely grunted, adjusting the plastic bags around his fingers so that he could carry more. "Did the, ah, interrogation…?"

"Wasn't as useful as I'd hoped, but the son of a bitch is dead and there's nothin' but good comin' outta that." Despite himself, Dean could not keep the small snarl of triumphant anger from the end of his words, because Alistair was _dead_ – and by his own hand, too, he had finally managed to end the demon that had brought him so much pain and hurt and rage. _He_ had done it, with Castiel's help.

"So no word on Lilith's whereabouts?" Sam asked, shutting the trunk after they had both grabbed everything out of it and following Dean back into the house. Castiel stood by the threshold, shaded by the awning, arms folded over his chest and his weight on one foot. His eyes narrowed slightly when he looked at Sam, and Sam remembered what Ruby had said to him – suddenly that odd, calculative stare seemed a lot more menacing, even though Castiel didn't look outwardly hostile and at least he had stopped snarling at Sam.

Dean huffed out a breath, dumping the groceries on the kitchen counter and wiping his forearm across his forehead – cold sweat came back on his sleeve and he grimaced, realizing there might actually be some truth to Sam's observations. "Nah, but I mean, we got the King of the Hounds on our side, right? That's gotta count for something."

"Right." The way he said that had Dean turning to look at Sam, expression expectant like he already knew there was a lecture tailing the end of it. Castiel had not followed them in, and when Sam turned and gave a cursory look through the doorways, he could not see the creature. "Listen, Dean…I think you need to be careful when it comes to Castiel."

Dean paused, shoulders tensing. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" And what did he mean? Sam exhaled harshly, rubbing a hand over his mouth, and turned to face his brother. "This whole thing… I mean, souls aren't meant to just be pulled outta Hell, Dean – they crawl out or get yanked out from the other side. Whatever Castiel is, he's powerful, and in our experience powerful things don't end well for us."

"Sam -."

"No, Dean, I know – I get it, really, and I'm so, so grateful to him for bringing you back." Sam hesitated, taking another deep breath, and Dean could only stand there and let him because Sam was saying everything that he hadn't dared to think yet. "But it's just…"

"I'm not goin' anywhere, Sammy," Dean whispered, staring at Sam and willing him to believe it, but suddenly he could not help but think of it a different way – in choosing Castiel, Dean had promised to go against Heaven and against Hell. But if Sam was also destined to be wrapped up in their plans, did that meant that he would have to go against Sam as well? "I promise." His throat felt dry and his voice was croaky, like he couldn't speak, and suddenly all he could think about was that if Castiel tried to take Dean away from Sam, there wouldn't be much that the Hunter could do to stop him – like Sam said, Castiel _was_ powerful, but he had also proven time and again that other powerful things didn't faze him for long. Hell, he'd taken out an _Angel_ without much sweat, but Alistair had almost killed him or hurt him or whatever the Hell he had been doing, so.

God, what did Dean actually _know_ about Castiel?

"I don't want to fight, Dean," Sam finally said, turning away again and busying himself with emptying the bags of groceries and setting them out on the counter to sort and put away. "I just want you to be careful."

"Can I help in any way?"

To Dean's credit, he _just_ managed not to flinch and yell at Castiel's sudden appearance. Sam wasn't so suave about it, and he ducked away from the creature, back towards the center of the room. For a moment the three of them were silent, Castiel and Sam stuck in some long staring match that Dean recognized, from when that gaze would be focused on him, as Castiel trying to stare someone down.

He stepped forward, throwing a six pack of beer Castiel's way, which forced the dog to break gazes from Sam so that he could catch it. "You any good in a kitchen?" he asked, dispelling the tension enough that Sam could go back to sorting through the groceries and no one was trying to stare into anyone else's soul.

Castiel frowned, twisting the beers so that they sat against his uninjured flank. "I have never tried."

"Well then: Crash Course it is. Put those in the fridge outside then come back in here," Dean ordered, and Castiel obeyed without another word, disappearing from the threshold to the kitchen with barely a sound. Dean sighed, rubbing his fingernails through his hair, and turned back towards Sam. "That ninja skill of his really sneaks up on ya, doesn’t it?"

Sam made a small, non-committal sound, and then gathered up the empty plastic bags and stuck them down behind Bobby's trash can. When Castiel returned, Sam claimed that there was more research to be done, and Dean thanked his own ability to make up excuses because teaching Castiel to cook meant that the dog was in the kitchen with him, and not alone in the library with Sam where anything could happen.  
"I don't think your brother likes me very much," Castiel remarked at one point, leaning against the counter and sipping from a glass of water while Dean crouched down and checked the temperature gauge on the oven.

"Should he? You did try to rip his throat out when you first met."

Castiel's eyes briefly rolled to Heaven in a gesture so petulant that it started a laugh out of Dean. "I didn't know what to think," Castiel confessed, taking another drink. "I raise you from Hell and mere days later the vessel of Lucifer shows up at your door? I was only trying to protect you."

Castiel's tone brought Dean up to a halt, and he straightened and looked over at the other man. Castiel was carefully avoiding Dean's eyes, apparently finding Bobby's kitchen floor to be the most fascinating in the world to him, and some part of Dean – long-buried or created in Hell or some deep-dark instinct – had the Hunter stepping forward until he was standing in front of Castiel. The dog's eyes flashed upwards, to Dean's chest only because he wouldn't raise his head, and slowly, hesitantly, his fingers shaking, Dean reached up and gently laid a warm hand across the back of Castiel's neck, fingers clenching just enough to rub at the sensitive, tensed muscles in Castiel's neck.

"I know you were," he murmured, some dark part of him pleased in a way he didn't try and examine too closely when Castiel let out a soft sound and set his glass down and melted into the soft touch, dark eyes falling closed. And Dean let him – he didn't know why, couldn't have explained it except for the fact that it felt incredibly familiar and undeniably pleasant to have Castiel's warmth pressed up against his, even if the touch was light because Castiel dared not push too hard. "I know, Cas, and I'm happy you were trying. But Sam's not a threat, okay? You gotta believe that."

Castiel swallowed, but stayed silent, and Dean didn't want to push him too hard even though he would insist on a verbal agreement soon enough – Castiel posing a threat to Sam was not something Dean would ever tolerate. Promise or no, he would rather try and kill the creature than allow Sam to be taken from him.

The creature seemed to sense this sudden change in mood, because he went tense despite the soothing touch of Dean's hand against his neck, and straightened up enough that it forced the Hunter to take a step back. Somehow, Dean felt like he was freezing without that warmth against him, and his fingers clenched tightly when he lowered his hand back to his side. "I believe you, Dean," he finally said, sounding guarded and tense, and it made Dean take another step back, because he must have crossed a line somewhere, then – Castiel was closed off and defensive, his eyes lowered, and Dean must have misread him, then, because _God_ , he'd touched Castiel – touched him like someone would a disobedient dog, and he didn't deserve that.

Castiel sighed, and made to move away, and Dean reached for him even though he was pretty sure Castiel didn't want him anywhere nearby right now. "Cas, I -."

He stopped, lowering his hand again, biting his lower lip to stop anything else coming. God, his head was so messed up – since their father, he had rarely had such a feeling tearing him between what he believed and what Sam did. Not in a way that made him start to question whatever it was that he was feeling. He didn't _know_ this man, had no idea who or what he was beyond brief flashes in his head that, for all he knew, were put there by Castiel himself. All he knew was that his fingers felt like they were burning with Hellfire and the only thing that could tear him away from that feeling was Castiel himself – when they were close, Dean felt pretty damn close to human again.

"I'm sorry."

He looked up at the sound of a gasp, to find that Castiel had turned, and was staring at him incredulously like Dean was some wonderful new thing that he had never seen before. "Sorry for what?" he demanded, sounding hurt and wronged, somehow, that Dean should apologize for treating him like some kind of rabid animal. "For defending your brother? Your family and your beliefs? For being everything that I have ever wanted to see humanity be when all I got instead were droves and droves of twisted and tainted souls?"

Castiel stepped forward, and Dean wanted to retreat, but he felt like he couldn't – couldn't because Castiel was looking at him, with that same adoration and awe that stirred a vague recollection in Dean's head, of six eyes looking down at him and a low rumble of curiosity and welcome shuddering the burning floor beneath his feet.

"For treating you like…" Dean tried to speak, but he could not – Castiel had robbed him of his voice, and they were standing so close together again. Dean knew he could step back if he wanted, could put distance between them and call and halt to whatever this _thing_ was, this electric taste in the air and the fire in Castiel's eyes, but at the same time he didn't want to. He wanted to see how far this would go.

"Like an animal?" Castiel finished for him, eyes bright and upper lip curling in a strange mix of a smile and a sob. "A soldier? A tool for your own ends? Why should you lie to me, Dean? That is what I am, after all."

"But you're not." The touch was back, then, around Castiel's neck, palm flattened over his pulse, fingers tightening with an urgency that Dean did not understand, and they were standing so close, and Dean could feel Castiel's breath against his throat. And then there was a hand knotted in his shirt, too, pulled tight across his chest and pulling him in, and Dean could read the emotion in Castiel's eyes as easily as anything – it was something he'd seen before, known before. Longing, desire, a violent urge to just _reach_ and _take_ , and it was being directed towards him. "You're not just an animal, Cas – you're so much more than that."

"Shut up, Dean," Castiel demanded, talking through his teeth, white flaring behind his eyes. Castiel's other hand joined the first, fisting Dean's clothes tightly, dragging them closer. "You're not -."

"Cas, just -."

And then Dean could not talk or argue anymore, because Castiel's mouth was on his, and the creature shoved at them both until Dean's lower back collided hard with the kitchen counter, making him hiss, but Castiel gave him no room to recover – the creature was wild, his hands sliding down to Dean's hips and pushing them closer together, and Dean yielded and let him because his hands were in Castiel's hair, making sure he stayed there, gentle with his fingers where he could not be with his tongue.

Castiel kissed as though he was trying to consume Dean from the inside out, as though he had been taunted with something behind a glass pane his entire life and how he was finally able to have it, devour and conquer it, and Dean could not help but bow under that kind of power. The scent of blood and fire and lightning in the room, the taste of flesh and charcoal on his tongue – somehow, it was dark, and ugly, and so damn satisfying in a way that Dean had never allowed himself to feel.

Soon enough, Dean began to feel lightheaded from lack of air, and Castiel, as though sensing that, gentled, as abruptly as he would shift between one personality and the next. He still kissed Dean, unwilling to part with the Hunter for a second longer than he had to, but he also nuzzled into his neck, licked and kissed and pressed gentle bites against his throat, and his mouth and his jaw. His hands curled around Dean's back, kneading at the sore muscles where he had collided with the kitchen counter, and low rumble falling from him in something like an apology, and Dean could merely stand and breathe deeply and try to stop the world from spinning.

When Dean felt like he could breathe again, and the blood in his ears had stopped from the deafening roar it had taken on, he swallowed loudly, pressing a hand against Castiel's chest. But he did not push the creature back – it was a steadying touch, grounding and familiar and safe, his other arm wrapping around Castiel's shoulders to gently lay his hand across the back of Castiel's neck.

"Cas?"

Castiel laughed, happy and breathless, and kissed at Dean's neck again, pressing close. "You have no idea," he murmured, "how long I have waited for that, how badly I have wanted."

"We didn't -?" Dean coughed, unsure how to ask that kind of question. "In Hell?"

And Castiel laughed again, shaking his head. "No," he replied, as though the truth of that hurt him, saddened him somehow, but Dean could not help but feel relieved – he didn't want to be the thing he had been in Hell. He wanted to feel as new as his body had been made. "You were a different man down there."

Dean knew it meant something different, but he closed his eyes and chose to ignore it, because conflicting emotions or not, fights or not, _destiny_ or not, there was something undeniably _good_ and _safe_ about Castiel, like this, his nose pressed to Dean's throat and Dean's lips still tingling from their kiss.

"I don't know who you are," Dean said, and Castiel made another soft sound that reminded Dean of a wounded animal. "I can't do this if I don't know."

"I understand," came Castiel's reply after what felt like too long, and then he withdrew, solemn and silent and with no sign that what had just happened between them had actually happened. Aside from the swollenness of his mouth Dean would have never known. "I will not let you falter again, Dean."

What? "No, Cas, I didn't mean it like -."

"It's alright," Castiel replied, holding up a hand to silence Dean. "I will go join Sam in researching, now. I suggest you follow soon enough – the oven's to temperature, now." He smiled, then, bitter and flashing teeth and it made Dean shiver. "You should hurry. Who knows when a wild animal will turn?"

And then he turned and fled from the room before Dean could say a single word in his defense. Cursing himself for his own stupidity and weakness, Dean turned his attention back to the oven (because, in all honesty, he had forgotten), and when the shepherd's pie was well on its way, he rejoined Sam in the library. Castiel was nowhere to be seen.


	12. I'm The One Who Gripped You Tight To Screw Over The Other Guys (Part Twelve)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, it's just the end of the world. With the three-headed guardian of Hell taking it upon himself to be Dean's personal guard dog, that's the least of the Winchesters' problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Castiel didn't reappear until nighttime. Dean had only finally been able to locate the beast by looking outside and seeing the great silhouette writhing against the ground – he'd been on the roof all day, staring out or sleeping or punching the air or whatever the hell it was he decided to do to work off whatever emotions Dean's behavior had conjured in him.

Dean felt like an ass – he hadn't meant for it to come out that way, honestly he didn't. It wasn't fair – Castiel clearly felt some kind of affection towards him, maybe even more than that (Dean couldn't bring himself to take that train of thought further), but until he remembered anything and everything, there was no way in Hell he could examine that kind of relationship on a deeper level. He didn't even know what he felt at that particular moment – images, half-formed and tainted red, were the only things he had to go on, and instincts and urges that he did not understand buried in so many layers of his subconscious that it would take years to dig them out. Years that he didn't have.

They were in the middle of a fucking Apocalypse, apparently. Castiel had the _worst_ timing.

When he finally gave up on Castiel coming to him, and had had enough of wakefulness, he found Castiel in his room, standing on the far side of the bed and gazing out through the window. Dean didn't move for a moment, frozen in the threshold and half-expecting Castiel to see him and disappear again, but the creature didn't move, didn't even register his presence even though Dean knew he was aware of it.

Looked like he would have to make the first move.

Dean sighed, rubbing his hands through his hair and over his face. His eyes hurt from the small print of the many books on Angels, God and the Apocalypse Bobby had given the three of them to research, and his lips still fucking tingle from Castiel's kiss. Once the creature had gone it had felt like a slow, red-hot pip was making its way down Dean's throat, through his chest and stomach and now it had settled low, still-burning and planted like a poisonous seed inside of him. He couldn't shake the feeling that they had done this before, regardless of Castiel's words stating otherwise.

Shaking himself, he crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him. He knew it would seal Castiel inside of his room due to the sigils there, and he noticed Castiel's shoulders go tense as though ropes had tightened around his body to prevent his escape. Good. They probably needed a few hours with nowhere else to go.

Dean made a move towards the creature, but found he could not go farther than the middle of the room. Whether it was his own subconscious rebelling at the idea or something Castiel was doing, he didn't know, but he felt frozen at the end of his bed, staring helplessly at Castiel's back.

"Cas," he finally said, when he could come no closer. "Look, man, whatever I did this morning to make you mad at me, I'm sorry."

Still Castiel didn't move, but Dean felt like he could take another step closer. The Hunter smiled despite himself, glad that Castiel seemed to be forgiving him, or letting him in at the very least. Before long they were both by the window, staring outside although Dean couldn't imagine what Castiel was looking at – the beat-up carcass of an '80s Dodge didn't seem like it would be that interesting to a three-headed dog, but really what did Dean know about that.

"It's my fault," Castiel finally said, sounding worn and tired and when Dean looked at him his eyes were hooded with fatigue and he looked grey. "I had thought blocking your memories would really affect your decisions. Apparently I was wrong – I think I managed to manipulate your free will even more than if I had let them be."

Dean couldn't think of a thing to say to that. He didn't want to argue with Castiel again – somehow that red-hot pip in his stomach felt like he was trying to rip out his own eyes and throw them away, and it felt the same to argue with Castiel.

"What you said to Alistair was correct," Castiel continued when Dean was silent, finally turning away from the window to face Dean, shoulder braced against the frame. "If Lilith is going to attempt to break more seals, then killing or trapping her early would be a huge delay in the Apocalypse. I intend to leave in the morning to find her."

Dean nodded, pressing his lips together and rubbing his palm across his mouth. It did make sense – after all, if Castiel was the leader or king of hell hounds or whatever, it would be stupid not to put that kind of advantage to use. If anyone could find Lilith quickly, it would be him. Dean didn't like the thought of Castiel going off on his own, but he and Sam needed to be elsewhere, covering more ground, doing research. Making themselves useful.

"While I'm gone, you and Sam should stay here."

Dean's eyes flashed up, a frown marring his face as he dropped his hand. "No way in Hell," he said, wincing at the choice of words when Castiel's face momentarily broke from his stoic demeanor to smirk, "are we staying here with our thumbs up our asses while you go off hunting down this bitch."

Castiel sighed, shaking his head. "And there is no way I'm going to let you out of here where I can't see or protect you," he replied simply, arching an eyebrow at Dean's indignant expression. "I mean it, Dean."

"So you're allowed to go out and risk your life but I'm not? This shit works both ways, Cas – how else am I supposed to know if you're okay, or -?" He couldn't bring himself to say the rest. There was a darkness to Castiel's eyes warning him to stop talking, stop going back down the dangerous path that they'd both sworn to steer clear of. He swallowed, jabbing an accusing finger Castiel's way. "I won't let you out of here if I have to."

The dog laughed, baring his teeth at Dean. "You have to leave sometime, Dean," he murmured, haughty and smug. "When you do, so will I."  
"I'll hunt you down."

"I'd like to see you try."

Dean forced himself to take a breath, fingernails curling into his palms for the bite to center and ground him. He would get nowhere by threatening Castiel, but he didn't know what else to do – the creature clearly would not listen to or be won over by threats of violence or promises to be hunted. He didn't want to manipulate Castiel into staying, but he sure as Hell wouldn't sit by and let the creature go out risking his life when Dean would be stuck here doing shit all and just hoping that he would come back.

"You can't keep me trapped here," Dean finally said, turning away and sitting on the opposite side of the bed, his back to Castiel as he undid the laces of his boots and toed them off. "You're such a big supporter of free will, Cas: I know you won't do that."

He didn't turn around to see Castiel's face, but he knew he was right when the creature sighed, and he felt the bed dip on the other side. "No, I suppose that's true," Castiel conceded, nodding his head. "But I can make sure you're never unescorted, either." Dean turned around, raising an eyebrow at Castiel's faint smile. "I'm sure some of my brothers would remember you, Dean."

It took a moment for Dean to decipher the meaning behind Castiel's heavy words, but when he did his blood ran cold. The dog's eyes had blackened, the hell-side of him at the forefront as he thought, and Dean had to swallow and turn his head away to force himself to calm down. Hellhounds. Castiel was threatening to set Hellhounds on him. The image of those sick, twisted dogs constantly at his side sent a shudder down Dean's spine, the red-hot pip frozen solid now and he couldn't make his fingers or arms move to shrug off the button-down still draped across his shoulders.

Castiel wouldn't do that. Would he?

"No," he whispered, voice hoarse and soft, but whether he was trying to answer his own question, or replying to Castiel, he couldn't say. He turned around to see the dog's black eyes facing him, and tried to force more power into his voice. " _No,_ Cas."

As he watched, the creature rose and circled the bed, coming back down to sit beside Dean. The Hunter felt frozen, unable to tell if it was fear or anticipation that raised the hairs on the back of his neck when Castiel rested his forehead against Dean's shoulder, sighing heavily. He felt so warm next to Dean's shivering body.

"Shh." One of Castiel's hands came up, flattening across Dean's racing heart, and it was only then that Dean realized he had still been saying 'No'; soft, panicked, a broken loop in his head. "They – _I_ – would never hurt you, Dean. Not anymore."

And Dean wanted to laugh at that, because yeah, right. Hellhounds worked for the demons that owned them, no one else – that much Dean knew. He finally felt strength returning to him, enough to push Castiel off of him and scoot away. He was exhausted, his eyes were tired, and he just wanted to sleep and forget that this whole day had ever happened.

"Go to sleep, Cas," he finally said, pulling back the covers and sliding in fully-clothed. No way in Hell was he going to lose _any_ layers right now. He felt way too raw, too exposed to want to do anything but hide. He felt more than heard Castiel sigh, pressure lifting when he pushed himself off of the bed. Dean didn't feel him return before exhaustion finally tugged him under.

 

 

 

 

_We're gonna have a hunt today, boy._

Alistair didn't so much have a mouth as his words simply situated themselves in Dean's head, coarse and prickly like he was sticking his head in a holly bush. But that didn't stop him smiling, fingers curling tight around the spiked end of a long whip, barbed along the edges. It was Dean's favorite weapon on a hunt – could reach out and curl around someone's neck with just enough pressure to really, really hurt, but wouldn't kill them. He had once dragged a woman for several miles by the end of the whip. When he'd gotten back, her throat had been torn to shreds and her skin tasted like tears and despair. Best night of his life.

"What're we hunting?" Dean asked. His most common job was to find wayward souls that had managed to somehow escape, and to bring them back to either the holding cells or a private rack. There was something admirable about a soul that could almost make it to Purgatory or beyond – something downright beautiful about seeing the hope in its eyes flutter and die like a crushed insect when he would step between them and their only exit.

Alistair smiled, stepping forward and running his fingers across Dean's collarbone, cradling the chin of his favored student as he lifted Dean's eyes to his. _You'll see_ , he whispered, white eyes glowing with anticipation, earning an eager grin from Dean. _Go on, pet. Don't keep me waiting._

Dean was eager to get started – earning Alistair's favor meant one more day where he wouldn't be exiled to the masses, the arenas on each circle that housed the other demons. He didn't like the thought of them touching him, seeing him, knowing that he had put some of them there himself. Their presence reminded him too strongly of the humanity he had left behind.

When he reached the gates that led between his circle of wrath and the one above, he put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. The sound was piercing, amplified, and demons screamed as it rose up towards the surface. Not too long after, a great roar reached his ears in answer, and Dean laughed at the sound of it as it shook the foundations.

"There's my boy," he crooned, turning around to see the great dog climbing down from the main road that led to the first gate. Kerebos' earthly head shone with wet, fresh blood, and Dean frowned at the sight of it. "Come here."

The earthly head bowed down obediently, nostrils flaring wide at the scent of hellfire and bloodlust coating Dean's skin. His nose pressed against Dean's chest, plaintive and silent, and Dean snarled in anger when he saw the obvious wound laid just above his eye, as though someone had tried to blind him on his way down.

"Who did this to you?" Dean demanded, fingers lovingly stroking over the wound. It was already beginning to heal, the bloodstain the only real reminder of its presence, but Kerebos was covered in bloodstains. It was one of the better things about him.

The dog's eyes blinked, ears laid back as it growled. The two other heads curled around Dean and Dean wrapped his arms around the earthly head as it rose up, so that he could swing around and slide down his neck and settle comfortably on his back.

"Never mind, I suppose," he muttered, wrapping the whip twice around his fist on one end, then across the neck he was straddling and back into his other hand – Kerebos has a weird gait, sometimes it was hard to stay on properly. "Let's head off, sweetheart. Got places to be."

The Angel-head rumbled softly, dipping down in agreement as the giant dog turned around and headed back upwards. If it was a wayward soul Dean was searching for, then they always ran up. For them it was the only way out.

 

 

 

 

"Dean? Dean!"

There were hands on him, shaking him awake, and Dean's eyes suddenly opened. He rolled over in an attempt to get away from the high-pitched, almost grating voice, and managed to clear the bed just enough that he didn't get any of the contents of his stomach on the sheets. The wet splatter was a gross, horrible sound, and Dean winced at it.

"Dean, are you okay?"

Sam. That was Sam. "Sammy," Dean croaked, wiping at his mouth and grimacing at the taste left behind. He sat up, carefully cradling his stomach, and met his brother's worried eyes. "What are you doing in here?"

"I heard you screaming," Sam replied, giving Dean the kind of once-over that meant he was looking for the bullet hole. "And I heard Castiel calling for me, but when I got in here he was gone and you were…" He stopped, gesturing vaguely towards the sweat-stained and rumpled sheets and Dean's unkempt state. "What the fuck is going on?"

"I…" Dean wiped at his mouth again, looking around him. "Wait, Cas is gone?"

"Well, yeah. He just disappeared as soon as I came in."

Fuck. "Fucking manipulative bastard," Dean hissed, shoving himself off of the bed on the other side. Sam made a move to catch him, Dean's legs suddenly feeling weird and unsteady, but Dean shoved him away once he'd regained his balance. "He's gone after Lilith."

"Lilith?" Sam frowned just at her name, instinctive anger making his jaw clench. "Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?"

It should be a good thing. It _was_ a good thing – turning that bitch into a living chew toy for the guardian of Hell, well, there were worse things to be done in that time. But that meant no Cas watching out for them, telling them who's human and who's Angel, keeping the other dicks off their backs.

"Yeah," Dean finally said, rubbing his hands over his face. "Get outta here, Sammy – I'm gonna go shower and clean up this mess. Then we'll hit the books."


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, it's just the end of the world. With the three-headed guardian of Hell taking it upon himself to be Dean's personal guard dog, that's the least of the Winchesters' problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. Unlucky thirteen was a bitch to write! Sorry for the huge wait, guys, but enjoy this part!

Alistair had lied.

Well, perhaps not in that conventional way of flat-out say-the-wrong-words _lying,_ but as soon as Dean breached the top layer of Hell into the circle of lust, he knew something was wrong. Frowning, the demon yanked on the whip wrapped around Kerebos' neck and brought the great beast to a stop. The giant dog howled in anger at the sudden order, ears laid flat back against its skull, eyes turned upwards.

Demons were everywhere. And Dean frowned to himself, slowly pushing upwards against the dog's back so that he was standing in an attempt to peer over the dog's heads. Because demons were everywhere – but they shouldn't be here. Usually they would be in the lower dungeons, not in a place that was so easily infiltrated and so hard to defend as the highest circle was, but here they were.

Their eyes were also turned upward.

He dismounted from the giant dog, looping the whip around his fist on both ends so that Kerebos would have no choice but to follow behind (although the giant dog was practically Dean's shadow nowadays anyway), and clicked his tongue at the creature to be sure he had the animal's attention. "Keep an eye out, you got me?" he said, earning a low rumble from the creature and a lowering of the Earthly head.

He strode forward towards where the circle ended, split apart into one road that led down and one that led upwards, towards the surface where the Gates sealed shut those too stupid or too weak to get out on their own – the final barrier between the souls who dared to try and escape and their freedom; the perch on which Kerebos usually sat, heads held high above those souls pouring into Hell and trying to claw their way back out.

The dog rumbled at Dean's back, blood-slick nose pressed to his shoulder in warning, and with a growl Dean turned away, shoving at the beast's muzzle to get it to move. "I said keep a fucking eye out. Don't make me ask you again."

He didn't stay behind to make sure his orders were obeyed – he knew they would be – but he could see the eyes of demons and hounds alike watching him from the shadows as he strode towards the surface gates, which seemed intact and strong as ever. He had no idea what had caused such a stir, but this Gate, at least, was holding fast.

He breathed deep in an attempt to locate the scent of a wayward soul, or anything else – he didn't understand what was going on, and gestured to a nearby demon to come to him. The creature slithered forward with narrowed eyes, lower jaw missing and tongue hanging loosely from its mouth. _What do you want, Winchester_? it asked, making Dean clench his jaw – he _hated_ being among the masses up here. Almost everyone knew his name.

"What's going on?" he asked, gesturing around to the almost panic-stricken hoard around them. They had scattered at the sight of Kerebos and even now were only just starting to come back into the dim lighting that illuminated Hell enough to see by. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

The demon hissed at him, making Dean smirk. _Hunt yourself_ , it said in a vague reply, melting back into the shadows and making Dean roll his eyes. He slammed his fist against the Gate in displeasure, before snapping his fingers twice. Kerebos appeared out of the shadows and Dean quickly climbed onto his back again, heels digging in to direct the animal back downward towards the crossroads, where the West and East sides of Hell lay. Maybe he would get better answers there.

 

 

The woman's screams were, in a word, grating. Castiel really wished it would stop, but unfortunately he was here to do a job, and until the little bitch started talking, they would have to continue.

"I don't like hurting you like this," he murmured to her, pouring another thin stream of holy water starting from her collarbone, where it would be soaked into the material of her shirt and spread out, chafing and raw and burning her. She let out another hoarse shout at that. "I know it's only in your nature, and given the circumstances and who you work for, it was even clever. I should be rewarding you for such good thinking." He pressed his lips together, shoulders rolling. "But I'm afraid that your plans and mine are getting in each other's way and, well, survival of the fittest and all that."

The demon choked on her swallow, tear tracks running down her cheeks, her eyes fully blackened in what Castiel assumed was meant to intimidate – it had just made him angrier. It was so hard to _concentrate_ with a Hellion staring right back at him. "Fuck you, you mutt," she hissed, baring bloody teeth at him.

Castiel grinned in reply, his own fangs showing. "Careful now, sweetheart," he coaxed, pressing a gentle touch against her cheek, only moving his hand away when she struggled and tried to bite him. He tsked quietly, shaking his head, and moved away to retrieve more holy water and the demon's own special blade. "Did you think I wouldn't notice? That I wouldn't see Sam Winchester's body and _smell_ your taint all over him?"

Her upper lip curls back, hatred and fear showing clearly behind the gesture. Castiel _knows_ that look – he _made_ demons feel that look, made them look up at him with awe and fear and every single regret they'd ever had in their human life to land them in his domain.

He stifled his initial snarl of retaliation, instead forcing a soft, placating smile to his face, eyes gentle and bright as he rested his fingertips against her cheek again. "Tell me where Lilith is, Ruby," he murmured, fingers flattening over her ribs and pressing down hard enough that she winced, feeling the beginnings of his claws. "I don't have the time to track her down myself. Tell me where she is and I will put you in a place she cannot find you, and when she is dead I will let you back out – no harm, no foul."

"You must be crazy," Ruby replied with a scornful laugh, shaking her head. She sounded almost hysterical, salt underneath Castiel's fingernails singeing into her flesh, burning her from the inside out. "She'll find a way to kill me! No one is that good -."

"I'd be less worried about her, sweetheart, and more worried about what _I_ might do to you if I don't get my answer." Castiel barely managed to contain his snarl, stepping back enough to draw his sword and lay it against her throat. "I will do whatever it takes to keep the Winchesters safe, and if that means swarming the entire United States with my brothers, telling them to tear apart every single demon they see so you all land back in that God-forsaken Pit, then I will do it. There is not enough demon blood in the world that will sate my thirst until I taste Lilith's. Now." He cocked his head to one side, grinning widely, the white around his iris almost glowing from the force of his ire and his threat. He could see her wincing at the brightness of it. "Do we have a deal? Lilith's whereabouts for your miserable, stained life?"

Ruby snarled at him – a pitiful noise compared to his own, but he supposed it would intimidate a lesser creature. Demons were, after all, terrifying. "You're so full of yourself, mutt," she hissed, fingernails curling into her palms and Castiel snorted, one corner of his mouth quirking up as he raised his eyes to her bound hands, one hand gently brushing over the dirty, bloody mass of her fringe to push it out of her face.

"I have a lot going for me," he replied, looking down to meet her eyes again. "A cause greater than myself, but spurred by ultimate selfishness. Do we have a deal?"

Her eyes rolled, wary and whited-out as the black filter faded away. "Yes," she finally huffed, sneering disdainfully at him. "Lilith's whereabouts for my safety. _After_ she's dead, too."

Castiel rolled his eyes despite himself. "Technicalities," he muttered, pursing his lips as he pretended to consider, before he nodded, drawing back far enough for sheathe his sword. "Very well, Ruby. I'm so glad we managed to come to some sort of arrangement – I would have hated to kill you."

"Yeah, yeah." She jerked at the binds keeping her hands pinned above her head. "Let me outta here, then."

Castiel paused, considering her just long enough to make her feel nervous. Then, he smiled. "Of course."

 

 

Coming up the east end of Hell, Dean quickly began to understand what had the demons scattering to the other three corners.

He quickly jumped off of Kerebos' back, scowling at the screeching, fleeing masses of demons as they were all running back the other way. "The fuck's crawled up your asses?" he muttered to himself, looking at the backs of the demons as they all fled back the other way. Carefully, the giant dog next to him rumbling lowly, he summoned his blade to the physical plane, spinning it in his palm until it laid flat against his forearm, and stalked forward.

The giant dog's low growl of warning went unnoticed as Dean trekked over the summit towards the path that led to the eastern Gate. When he reached the top, he stopped in his tracks, a strange mix of worry and anticipation prickling down his spine.

The Gate was open. Light streamed in from the opening within the giant Gate, and Dean pressed his lips together as he took in the carnage around it – it looked like a blastwave had gone off; Dean could see the ashen bodies of demons scattered around the ground where they had been too close to the center of the shockwave. As he was perusing the scene, a giant boom rattled Hell and Dean went tense, eyes blackening and flashing up when he saw the Gate opening another inch, something big and powerful obviously forcing it open.

He took a step back, the ground shaking hard beneath his feet, only to collide with the hard muscle of a leg pressed against his back. He turned around, snarling in anger at being startled, and gripped the loose ends of the trailing whip in his fist. "Gotta put a fucking bell on you one day, boy," he growled, swinging himself up onto Kerebos' back. "Come on."

He was turning the dog around, about to summon more enforcements to the Gate – or possibly an escape 'cause, hey, what kind of demon would he be if he didn't try – when another blast wave rocked through the air, almost knocking Dean off of Kerebos' back, and a screech unlike what he'd ever heard pierced through the air with enough force that he felt almost deaf.

Before he could try and locate the source of the sound, another loud roar joined the first, Kerebos' Heaven-side head baring shining metal teeth in response to whatever was forcing itself through that gate. The Hellion head was braced around Dean's body, rearing back in defense, all three of them snarling and growling as the great beast backed away. Angered, Dean hissed and lashed out with his blade, piercing the dog's flank easily so that it howled and stopped moving.

"You fucking retreat when I tell you to," he ordered to the animal, earning a soft rumble of acceptance from Kerebos before he withdrew his blade. A swift tug of the whip brought the weapon back to coil in his hands, ready to use against whatever might be pushing through.

_Angels! Angels are coming!_

_Back away!_

The horde was screeching at him from the shadows, demanding he stay back, flee from the bright light of the celestial beings – he realized, then, that the high-pitched whine must be their war-cry, their voices, far too pure and too _clean_ to be heard by things like him. And they were trying to get into _his_ home? No way in fucking Hell.

Dean clenched his jaw again, blade pressed flat against his forearm in readiness. Around him the roars of Hellhounds had gathered in response to the terror and fight of the demons who owned them – those brave enough to fight against such formidable enemies. They flanked around Kerebos and Dean urged the great dog onward, but no matter how much he goaded and threatened and demanded the beast move, Kerebos stood frozen, mulish and stubbornly refusing to acknowledge any of Dean's orders.

"Fucking coward!" Dean yelled, getting off the dog's back when he realized it would not move forward no matter what he did. The ears on the earthly head perked up, rumble of warning shaking the ground beneath Dean's feet. "Fine. I'll do this myself."

_Winchester! Get the fuck away from there!_

Dean ignored the voices, body tense and crouched low, ready for a fight, when a shadow suddenly descended on him. He looked up to see the Hellion maw of Kerebos opened wide and heading straight for him. Before he could react, the dog's large serrated teeth were closing around his stomach, head raising and jerking back as Kerebos swallowed the demon whole – one he swallowed Dean, the demon still yelling and trying to cut the dog from the inside-out, Kerebos turned tail and fled towards the other end of Hell – if the Angels were coming, they would be coming for Dean, and he could not let them have him.

Around him, Hellhounds responded to the command of their leader and brother, attacking the Angels as they approached with a ferocity borne of many years with nothing sweeter than demon flesh to eat – the purity and light of the Angels was like honey on their rotting tongues, matted fur and dark blood mingling with shredded and splitting Grace.

 

 

The taste of the demon chick had left a sourness to Castiel's mouth that he hadn't experience for what felt like a very long time – Earth time moved differently, of course, but it truly hadn't been that long since he'd been in Hell. Already he was going soft – maybe Uriel was right.

"You tasted foul," he muttered to himself, wiping his hands over his mouth. "You need to eat less salt."

 _Oh, bite me, mutt,_ Ruby's voice flitted back over the beat of his heart and the thrum of his blood in his veins. He hummed, waving a hand, and the room in which he had tortured her was immediately clean and devoid of any evidence that they had been there.

Then, he perked up, nostrils flaring, at the sound of a high-pitched, piercing whistle. It carried, felt like a lightning strike straight to the base of his skull, harsh enough that he shivered, and his fingers flexed.

 _The fuck was that?_ Ruby asked, hissing the words and Castiel growled at her to be silent.

He sighed. "Dean is calling me back," he said, pressing his lips together. "He must have remembered more, or found something."

 _You can hear that?_ Ruby's voice sounded impressed, and amused. _You gonna come running like a little bitch boy?_

"Dean is my master," Castiel replied stiffly, shoulders rolling as he stretched his wings and prepared to return – after all, Dean might be calling to help. Their bond was not strong enough that Castiel would be able to tell from heartbeat alone. "I will always come when he calls."

 _You're whipped,_ Ruby sing-songed as Castiel winged his way back to Bobby Singer's scrapyard, staggering a little from the force of it – his wings had to move harder to compensate for the extra weight of the demon soul inside of him. He wondered, absently, if Sam would be able to sense Ruby curled deep into his stomach – the safest place he could think to put her, after all.

He hurried inside and upstairs to Dean's room, only to be slammed back against the door once he pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold. Dean's eyes were stormy and dark, lips pressed into a thin line and forearm held tight against Castiel's throat. Castiel whined softly, unable to help how he sagged back against the door and tilted his head back in submission.

"You _ever_ fuckin' pull shit like that again," Dean snarled, fist clenched tight in Castiel's t-shirt and pulling in. He smelled like Jack Daniels and old books, must and blood and fire and Castiel's fingers flexed again, useless and forced back, by his sides, "and I swear to God I'll put you on a fucking leash!"

Castiel swallowed, head tilted to one side. "I understand that you're angry -."

 _"Angry?"_ Dean's eyes widened, incredulous and growling with barely-controlled anger. "You fucking _ate_ me, you son of a bitch!"

Castiel sucked in an aborted breath, eyes widening in shock. "You remember?"

_Was that a kinky thing?_

"You know what? Go fuck yourself, Castiel," Dean hissed, shoving himself away from the creature and running his hands through his hair.

"Dean, I -."

_You're letting him treat you like some fucking doormat, mutt._

"You what?" Dean demanded, rounding on Castiel again, and the dog could only stand and stare. "You lied to me – I could have gotten out myself, I could have gone with them. I mean – how many Angels died because of me, huh?"

"Dean, Angels are _soldiers_ ," Castiel replied, hissing softly, shoulders curling in as he leaned away from the door, stalking towards the other man. "They knew exactly what they would get into when they attempted to get you out of Hell. And I made it _my_ responsibility to keep you safe and that meant not letting you fall into _their_ hands." He had been backed against a wall now, upper lip curled back, hand flying forward to curl tightly around Dean's arm because if he really wanted to he would wrap his hand around Dean's throat and he _couldn't hurt him like that._ "I would do it again and again if I had to. Don't you _dare_ forget that you hurt me, too."

_Jeez, you sound like an old married couple._

Dean's expression went flat, closed-off, giving nothing away to Castiel's searching gaze. "Yeah, I did, didn't I?" he murmured, turning his eyes away. For a long moment both of them stayed still, until Castiel remembered that he was still holding Dean very tightly and it would undoubtedly leave a bruise if he kept going. Slowly, he carefully unwrapped his fingers from around the Hunter's bicep, sliding his hand down in a healing touch before letting go.

He heard Dean's heartbeat stutter, before the Hunter sighed heavily and rubbed his hands over his face. "I'm gonna go check on how Sammy's coming along," he said, skirting carefully around Castiel, the dog's eyes carefully following his movements. "Just…just stay, Cas."

Castiel swallowed, bowing his head once in acquiescence. His entire being riled against the base order, but it was more like what had been in Hell – Dean gave the orders, Castiel obeyed without question.

Ruby's laughter echoed around his head. _Does he at least put out?_

Castiel's growl was covered by the closing of Dean's bedroom door, sealing him inside. "You watch your fucking mouth, you bitch."

She hummed. _So that's a 'No'._

The dog growled again, sitting down on the bed, running his fingers through his hair as he hung his head and sighed heavily. It was settling in to be a long Apocalypse.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...So Cas came back?"

"…So, Cas came back?"

Dean sighed, sitting back, and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Yeah. I guess he has my call like, tuned into him or something." He shrugged one shoulder. "I called his name and he came running."

Sam's mouth twisted. "Did you figure out what he was doing? Why he left?" he asked, and Dean sighed again, shaking his head, because he hadn't wanted to know – what if Castiel had been doing something really important and Dean had screwed it up? He didn't want to have to think too hard about Castiel's motives or methods anymore – as long as he kept coming back whenever Dean called; there was no reason to suspect him. Right?

Sam drummed his fingers on the table, humming softly at Dean's answer. He looked jittery, and kind of sickly too – too pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. "You feelin' alright?" Dean asked, side-eying his brother and trying to figure out if it was just tiredness or stress that was making Sam look like he'd caught a bad stomach bug. The only response he got was the shrug of one shoulder, Sam's leg jogging up and down restlessly, so Dean grunted, not wanting to push it, and shoved himself to his feet. "I'm gonna get something started for dinner," he said, and disappeared up the stairs to get let Castiel out, before he returned to the kitchen. Sam was hyper-aware of his footsteps, heavy booted feet making more noise than strictly necessary against Bobby's floorboards, and soon the house was full of the smell of frying meat and crisp onion.

Moments later, Castiel came down the stairs on much quieter feet, hovering within the doorway leading to Bobby's living room, and looking towards the kitchen door. "He's in there," Sam said with a jerk of his head, not looking up for a moment. Then a scent hit him, strange and familiar, and he snapped his head up, looking towards Castiel with shock.

The dog blinked, turning his head to meet Sam's gaze with a level stare. _He can smell you_ , he thought to Ruby, who he could feel shifting and rolling like an uncomfortable weight in his stomach. The creature's eyes narrowed when Sam stood up, slowly, braced heavily against the table he'd been sitting at as though it was the only thing keeping him upright.

His eyes briefly flashed to the kitchen, then back to Castiel. "…Ruby?" he hazarded, voice soft enough that Castiel could ignore it if he so chose.

"She's safe," he replied, coming forward and taking a seat where Dean had been, lazily flicking open the nearest book, more out of a way to distract his hands than because he wanted to read the contents. Sam's eyes were a heavy weight on him, the scent of ash and poison in his blood a distracting scent that he would rather be rid of as soon as possible. The sooner Sam detoxed, the better. "She told me her plans for you. Such grand plans."

Slowly, Sam sat back down, mouth wide open and gaping when the dog's Hell-black eyes flashed to his. "Did Ruby tell you that you were the vessel of Lucifer, Sam?" he asked, and Sam shook his head 'No'. "I suppose she wouldn't. Did she also tell you that she and Lilith were all part of Azazel's original plan?"

Sam frowned. "What original -?"

"It doesn't matter now," Castiel replied, waving his hand. "Ruby will stay where she is until you have detoxed, and when we find Lilith I will rip her throat out with my teeth, and then you are free to commit all of the bad decisions you want." He bared his teeth in a grin that Sam wasn't sure was meant to be threatening or reassuring.

"What do you mean 'bad decisions'?" he challenged, frowning. "How is using my ability to exorcize people without killing them a 'bad decision'?"

Castiel blinked. _Wow,_ he thought, _you really have gotten him wrapped around your little finger, haven't you?_

_You looking for pointers with your own Winchester, mutt?_

Castiel closed the book, sitting forward. Sam Winchester was not an inherently bad man, and Dean loved him very much. Creating animosity between them would not sit well with Dean, and Castiel was willing to admit that he had thrown the first punch by trying to attack Sam as soon as he'd seen him – his instincts had taken over, gotten in the way of his rational brain, but when it came to Dean there wasn't much room for rational thought. The simpler they kept this situation, the better.

"Sam," he began, slowly and quietly. He didn't know how long they had until Dean returned with food, but judging from the wonderful smell wafting in front the kitchen, he could guess that they didn't have long. "I am not here to judge what you do, but the fact of the matter is that, if you continue down this path, you will break open Lucifer's cage and set him free, and I'm sorry, but I cannot allow such an event to occur."

Sam's face flushed at the accusation, tensed and already gearing up to argue, but the dog held up a hand, expression imploring for further silence; "Again, I am not judging you. Right now my priority is to find and kill Lilith. That is the only way to ensure that you, and Dean, and the rest of the world are safe. Do you understand?"

Sam swallowed, sitting back. "I want to kill Lilith," he said lowly, hands curling tight around the edges of his chair's armrests. "I want to make her pay for what she did to Dean."

"In that, we share a common interest," Castiel replied, and this time his grin was a lot friendlier and a lot more savage. He placed his hand against his heart, eyes earnest and bright. "The sooner we kill Lilith, the less likely that doing so will cause the final seals to break. We need to find her fast, and that means all three of us need to be in top condition – the sooner you detox, the sooner you can help me." He paused, then, giving Sam a moment to consider. "Are you willing to help me, Sam?"

The Hunter's eyes narrowed, calculating and assessing. Castiel bore the gaze gladly. "You have Dean's best interests at heart," he said, making it sound almost like a question, and Castiel nodded slowly. "Then I'll go along with it. For now. One wrong move, though, and I'll kill you."

Castiel's eyes narrowed, hackles rising in instinct against the threat. "Will you, boy?" he challenged, head cocked to one side. "How?"

"I'll find a way," Sam replied, gaze sure, heartbeat steady. Castiel had to admit, he was an impressive man when he'd made a decision. Dean was lucky to have a brother this loyal to him – even if his very presence was a risk to Dean's life and wellbeing. Sam obviously made Dean happy, and so Castiel would do his best to be friendly and accommodating towards the man, but it was hard. He'd never had to share Dean before.

Then again, had Sam?

Ruby's voice floated to him, soft and almost sad into his psyche; _No._

Castiel had no opportunity to respond to that, because Dean walked into the living room, then, carrying two bowls of what appeared to be chili. He stopped, obviously not expecting Castiel to have been there, sitting quietly with Sam, and he cleared his throat, handing one of the bowls over to his brother. "You kids playing nice in here?" he half-joked, holding the second bowl out to Castiel: he had no idea if the dog even needed to eat on this plane, but really all he knew about Castiel's appetite was that apparently he thought it was okay to swallow people whole, so that wasn't really much of an indicator.

Castiel accepted the bowl gratefully, soft smile ghosting across his face. "Yes," he replied, not giving any sign of picking up Dean's teasing tone, and took a bite of chili, his eyes on Sam. "I don't foresee there being any problems."

Dean frowned. "Yeah, that doesn't sound mildly creepy," he muttered, but turned away to grab a third bowl for himself, shouting out a vague 'Bobby, food!' for the older man to hear and feed himself to his heart's content. Then, he returned to the living room, taking up the small two-seater couch by the window and kicking his feet up. "So what were you guys talking about?"

Castiel's eyes flashed to Sam, but the dog didn't volunteer an answer, which left Sam. "Uh, we were talking about Lilith," he said, which wasn't entirely untrue, and Castiel let out a low growl in affirmation, as though just her name was enough to get his upper lip curling back. "Cas was telling me that apparently the sooner we get to gankin' her, the better."

The dog nodded. "There are a set of Seals that I believe Lilith intends to break, now that the first one has been," he said, with a pointed look to Dean, who pressed his lips together and looked down at his bowl of chili, a heavy furrow in his brow. "However, there are hundreds of Seals, and she only needs to break sixty-six of them. The last is the sacrifice of her own life."

Sam looked up in surprise at that; Ruby hadn't told him that. So she was planning on letting him kill Lilith, when? At the right time?

"So, not only do we gotta kill her, but soon," Dean finished, looking up again, and Castiel nodded. Dean huffed, swinging his legs around so that he could sit back up again, setting his bowl to one side. "Do we have any idea which ones she'd go after? Any five-pointers that are easy to get out of the way?"

Castiel let out a frustrated sound, shaking his head. "I'm afraid, with that, the Angels and demons have the advantage." Then, he paused, swirling his spoon around in the chili with a hesitant, contemplative expression on his face. "But I do know her last known location."

Dean looked up. "Oh, yeah?" he asked, voice already dark with suspicion. "How?"

"While I was away today," Castiel said, finally putting his food to one side, barely touched, and fixing his gaze on Dean, "I tracked down a demon and interrogated her. I knew she would be able to tell me where Lilith was. The…" He paused, then, low snarl escaping him before he had a chance to stop it. "The _stench_ of her was all over the demon, so I knew she would know." Then, he paused, apparently satisfied with that explanation, and picked up his food again. "She won't trouble us anymore."

_Wow, way to make me feel like a second-rate player._

Castiel smirked, hiding it behind a mouthful of chili. _You are a second rate player when I'm playing._

_Ah, there's the ego. I was wondering where it'd gone._

Dean's eyes were narrowed, appraising the dog from where he sat and ate peacefully. Sam did his best not to note the mounting tension in the room, but with Dean it was as obvious as if someone had put a giant 'I am fucking suspicious' sign on his forehead.

"And how'd you find that demon?" he asked, finally, after a short while. Castiel's head lifted, his eyes briefly going to Sam and Sam hoped for the sake of his own head that Dean hadn't seen it. "Damn it, Cas, this is exactly what I was saying before! If something had gone wrong, Sam'n'I would've had no idea you were in trouble!"

"I can take care of myself, Dean," the dog snapped back. "I'm more worried about you."

"What about me?" Dean demanded.

Castiel cocked his head to one side, that one gesture somehow making it seem like he had stuck both his middle fingers in Dean's direction. "What about you? Would you like a list?" Good God, they were fighting like an old married couple – but Sam was sure that if he moved now, they'd probably turn their anger on him, and he did _not_ need that, thank you very much. "Regardless of how you may feel, Dean, the fact of the matter is that I am much stronger than you, and I have access to resources that, until you remember your time in Hell, you are not privy to. Every demon that crosses into Hell, every human soul that I have ever seen, I remember the scent of. In one day on this Earth I could probably come across a dozen different trails. I got lucky today."

"Exactly," Dean hissed, "you got lucky. What happens when you don't?"

Castiel rolled his eyes, standing. "You seem to forget that I was a warrior in my time, Dean, just like you – just like Sam."

"So, what, I'm not allowed to be worried about you?"

"Of _course_ you are," the dog snapped back, almost growling, and yeah, Sam was going to get out of here. He wasn't even sure if Dean or Castiel noticed his sudden retreat, but Castiel looked like he was either going to hit Dean or make out with him and Sam didn't need to be here for either of those things.

Dean's eyes followed Sam out, his cheeks reddening at the reminder that his brother had totally seen him acting all worried mother-hen over Castiel, but damn it, how could he not? He'd barely known the guy and Castiel had managed to take everything he'd ever known, ever thought, and flip it on its head without so much as a 'by your leave', and Dean was getting sick of it. Sick of not knowing, of guessing, of being proven wrong, of reading him wrong. He was sick of looking at Castiel and _wanting_ , knowing he couldn't, shouldn't, _wanted to_ so much that it was painful.

He was sick, and tired, and he just wanted answers. Wanted to know that there would be someone looking out for those he loved if he dropped the ball.

"Of course you are," Castiel said again, more gently once Sam had left the room. He stepped forward, crossing into Dean's space like he had been aching to be there all day, and reached out to gently splay his fingertips across the side of Dean's face. He knelt down, so that his head was lower, his eyes wide and bright and imploring, glowing with Heavenly Grace and almost beseeching Dean, desperate for him to understand. "You're allowed to worry about me. It simply angers me that if you remembered more of Hell, you wouldn't worry. You never did before."

Dean shook his head. "I can't believe that," he said, swallowing hard. "That's…that's not me, Cas. I can't believe that I wouldn't worry about you."

The corner of Castiel's mouth quirked upwards. "Maybe I was being too realistic, then," he agreed, shrugging one shoulder. "Do I feel weaker to you, here, Dean? Is it the vessel?"

"There's nothing wrong with you." It was said lowly, Dean's eyes averted and fixed on some place by Castiel's foot.

_Oh my God, just kiss him already._

_I will never. Not while you're still here._

_Pity. I could give you some pointers._

Castiel took Dean's hand, and pressed it against his jaw in order to cover up the snarl at Ruby's words. The sooner he was rid of her, the better. "I need to do this, Dean," he said, turning his face into Dean's open palm, smiling when Dean's fingers curled around his jaw loosely in a mimic of a comforting, cradling touch. "You will need to stay here, at least for a little while, with Sam. He's sick."

Dean stiffened, frowning. "Sick? How?"

"Nothing incurable," Castiel assured him, "but that is Sam's secret to tell. I have done all I can for him, and he knows I know. If he gives me permission to tell you, then I will, but I cannot judge him for doing something I would have done in his position."

"Yeah, okay, that cryptic as fuck explanation is _not_ going to cut it."

Castiel smiled again, standing, and Dean rose as well. "He'll be okay," Castiel said again, his hand flattening over Dean's shoulder even when Dean's touch fell away, craving the contact and warmth of the man he had called a master for so long. "But to ensure his ultimate safety, we need Lilith's head on a stick. And soon. We can't do that until he is better, and until we have all the information we can get – my plan had been to go out, interrogate other demons, and put my brothers to work tracking Lilith down."

Dean still looked so unsure, worrying his lower lip in between his teeth as he stared at some point over Castiel's shoulder, at the doorway through which Sam had disappeared.

When his eyes met Castiel's again, they were guarded and dark. "Do you trust me, Dean?" he asked, reminded so much of when they had first met, barely a week ago, in the front seat of Dean's car and so much excitement bubbling under Castiel's skin he had been unable to contain it. That was before he'd known about Dean's memory loss. It was a cruel thing for him to have done, and may had damaged their relationship in the long run, but he could not say it had been a bad decision.

Dean let his lip go, breathing in. "Yeah, I guess I do," he said, making it sound like even admitting that was a chore, but Castiel gave him a radiant smile and pulled him in for a quick, gentle hug.

"I won't let you down," he said, "I promise."

"Yeah, okay." Dean's hand patted his back awkwardly, his heartbeat stuttering next to Castiel's ear where it rested against his throat. "Get me Lilith's head on a stick, and then we'll talk."


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The idea is simple: find Lilith, kill her, and stop the Apocalypse. If Dean or Castiel could pull their heads out their asses for five seconds, it might actually work.

It took two days before Sam's symptoms began to get worse. Dean, of course, was helpless but to simply care for his brother, bringing him food and water while he began to sweat out the fever and staying by him as he began to slow, painful detox that was his body ridding itself of Ruby's poison.

Although Castiel lacked the emotional bond and loyalty that kept him invested in Dean's wellbeing and his future, he did care for Sam in the same way one might care for a distance cousin – largely uninvolved, but sympathetic and willing to help should trouble befall them – and he felt, with each passing hour as he watched Sam deteriorate and Dean begin to grow desperate, his hatred for Ruby growing as well.

The demon was insufferable, to put it plainly. He was starting to deeply regret using his own stomach as her prison until the plans with Lilith were finished with. Sam's pitiful calls for her blood that slowly turned into pain-wracked screams made his spit taste like bile and churned his gut in a way he had not felt since the first time he'd ripped a Fallen's throat out with his teeth – the mixed loyalty, the betrayal he saw in Dean's eyes, the distrust slowly brewing, it hurt him in a way he could not put words to, even if he'd wanted to.

"I must leave," he said, finally, when Sam had to be relocated to the panic room in the basement because his psychic abilities were far from gone; like a caged animal lashing at the electric prod, he kept fighting and Castiel felt the pull towards him singing in his own blood as though he were the one to have poisoned him in the first place.

Dean looked at him, disbelieving. "You're fucking kidding me, right?" he demanded, slamming the book he'd been reading closed and standing. In two quick strides he was right in Castiel's face, pinning the dog between his own body and the wall. "You think you can just waltz in here and keep fucking everything up and leave again? What the Hell, Cas?"

The creature frowned, lowering his eyes because he hated the pain he could see in Dean's face. "I'm sorry," he said, voice heavy with sincerity, and it caused that tight, painful knot in his chest to throb when Dean snorted, turning away. "I mean it – I truly am. But I can't…" He swallowed, hesitating. "I _can't stay here_ , Dean."

"Why not?" Dean rounded on him again, distrusting. Castiel could hear the stutter in his heartbeat, the bitterness in his scent as his eyes looked Castiel up and down like maybe he could see beneath the vessel into all the dirty, dark secrets Castiel had been hiding.

And really, what could Castiel say to him? He wanted, so badly, to be able to tell the truth – if only he knew how Dean would react, what to do or say to make him okay, make him accepting. With his old master, Dean in Hell, it was easier – give him a fresh body or a project and he was so happy, so easy to please, and Castiel merely had to come when he called to appease his master, but now? Life was so much more _complicated_ than he had ever known it. He hated it. He hated this.

For a long moment, they merely stared at each other, before Dean deflated, rubbing his hands over his face and sighing hard. Up here Sam's screams weren't as loud, but they were still audible, and Castiel had no doubt that they were wearing Dean's already-frayed nerves even thinner. "What do I have to do, Cas," Dean said, sounding so tired and so worn out and Castiel hated it, hated every single weary line he could read in Dean's posture, hear in his voice, "to get you to let me in, huh? Just… _fuck_." He turned away, kicking at one of the chairs loud enough to knock it back onto two legs and over, and Castiel flinched at the resulting crash. Dean was running his fingers through his hair, and shook his head. "I'm so fucking _sick_ of this. You should have…"

 _Jesus, you'd think_ he _was the one sweating out demon blood._

 _Shut up, shut up, shut_ up!

"You should have just left me down there to rot."

Castiel snarled, stalking towards Dean and turning him around with one strong hand to his shoulder. His fist was flying before he could stop it, connecting with Dean's jaw, but his other hand caught the man before he could fall to the ground, fists closing tight in his clothes and shaking him. "Don't you _dare_ say that to me!" he shouted, his eyes glowing white around the edges, bright and pleading. "Don't you fucking dare!"

"Then be fucking straight with me!" Dean yelled, recovering quickly and shoving Castiel back, sending the dog staggering (though Dean suspected Castiel let him, and was even angrier at what that implied). "My brother is down there _dying_ for all I know and you won't even tell me why! And you're just…just leaving? No. _Fuck you_ , Castiel. I don't owe you this kind of loyalty, you got me?"

"Dean -." But the man was already turning around, shoving him away, and Castiel reached for him, desperate – his fingers hooked in the sleeve of Dean's shirt and pulled him to a stop. "Please, Dean – please don't be angry with me. I just…I gave Sam my word -."

"Your _word_?" Dean's expression – disbelief and disgust and anger – made Castiel want to tear at his own skin if it would make Dean stop. "Your _word_ 's lookin' more and more like a steamin' crock of shit, Cas! What _promise_ could possibly be more important than Sam?"

Castiel sighed, swallowing hard, and ducked his head so that Dean might not see how much those words hurt him. "I will go to him," he said, breathing deep to try and get his emotions under control before he lifted his chin to look Dean in the eye. "I will ask his permission to tell you what's wrong."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Fine, Cas. Go. I'm…I'm gonna take a walk." He had turned away before Castiel could protest, and though he ached to follow Dean and urge him to stay inside where it was safe and where Castiel could protect him, he knew Dean would only do that if Castiel could tell him what, exactly, was happening.

He had to go to Sam.

 

 

Castiel was unprepared for the surge of memories that Sam's screaming brought onto him – red-marred images, flashes of torn flesh and bloodied bodies surged into the backs of his eyelids, and he grimaced, hand tightening on the stair rail and hesitating on the third step from the bottom. He could remember, of course, and knew the scent of every soul that had passed under his belly to get into Hell – even Ruby's ash-stained essence held a certain familiarity to him. The scent that lingered here was pure death, decay in its most awful form and Castiel felt sick with it. The screams raised the hair on the back of his neck as though confronting a threat, and God – if it was this bad for him, who had done nothing ill towards the terrified souls damned to Hell, how bad must it have been for Dean, who had not only welcomed them with open arms but had seen to their punishments and tortures personally?

He was sure he could not hate himself any more than he already did before he heard Sam screaming. As he approached the door it lessened, and when he peered inside he was glad to see that Sam, at least, was still in his bonds, chains around his ankles and wrists and a spit-soaked piece of linen in his mouth which did little to stifle his sounds.

He drew back, sucking in a deep breath, and twisted the locking mechanism open, and did his best to step inside without much trouble. Ruby's demon soul inside of him made his skin burn slightly at the barrier of iron and salt, and he felt physically sick as he crossed the barriers as though he was going to throw up, but at least he was inside – and he sealed the door behind him, garnering Sam's attention.

Sam looked awful, to put it plainly – his shirt bore yellowing sweat stains, and his skin was sallow and pale. Dark circles under his eyes took up most of his face, his lips dry and cracking, hair dark with sweat. His wrists were rubbed raw from the manacles and Castiel was sure his voice was hoarse from shouting.

When Sam turned to look at him, his eyes didn't focus and they were fever-bright, but that wasn't what shocked Castiel the most. They were black – black as a demon's, but thin so that Castiel could see his real iris and pupil roving wildly underneath as though he was trying to follow swirling colors, dizzy and fast.

His stomach turned at the sight of the tortured soul, and he hesitated on the threshold, just inside the shut room, when Sam's mouth parted around the gag and he uttered a single, cracked word; "Ruby?"

Castiel hated that demon – he hated her with every fiber of his being. "No, Sam," he said, shaking his head. "She's safe, but she's not the one talking to you. I am."

"So…" Sam's fingers flexed, knuckles white and hands shaking. His entire body arched like he was trying to reach for Castiel and the lights in the room flickered. "So thirsty, Ruby. Please."

Castiel sighed, licking his lips, and moved away from the door to a small bowl sitting under a faucet, which he filled, along with a dirty cup that was sitting alongside. He supposed he should wash the cup – Sam didn't need to drink something and get sick when his body was already so weak – but he had no soaps and he didn't want to stay down here for longer than necessary, so he instead rinsed it several times under the dripping water until it looked decently clean, and brought the bowl, cup and a small rag to Sam. He knelt by Sam's head, holding the cup to his lips.

"Drink," he urged. It was awkward with the gag in his mouth – which was little more than a shredded and useless thing now, so Castiel quickly took it in hands and ripped it apart, pulling it out of Sam's mouth before holding the cup to his lips again. Sam drank eagerly, so Castiel dipped the cup into the bowl and nursed it into him again and again until the water bubbled up at the corner of Sam's mouth and he couldn't swallow anymore. "Good. That's very good, Sam. Well done," he praised quietly, like Dean had done for him so many times; it had never failed to settle warmly in Castiel's stomach and gotten his tail to wag.

Sam had fallen silent, his head rolling back and forth along the thin pillow, and Castiel sighed, soaking the cloth in what little water remained in the bowl and dabbing at Sam's sweaty forehead. The entire process felt awkward to him – he was a soldier, not a caretaker, and certainly no friend of Sam's if their shaky interactions were anything to go by, but he thought of Dean and how grateful he would be and that settled something inside of him that hissed at being so close to Lucifer's Chosen.

"Sam," he said after a few long moments of silence, the man's attention flickering to him briefly in the form of a soft hum. "I want to tell Dean why you're sick. He's very worried about you."

Sam laughed, loud and pained. "Dean," he sing-songed, rolling his head away. "Dean doesn't worry about much of anything, Ruby. He's dead!" His laugh, this time, sounded far more hysterical, and the scent of salt became sharper as tears beaded at the corners of his eyes. "He's dead and the only thing left now is Lilith. We have to – I have to kill her."

He turned, suddenly, the fragile metal bed skating alarmingly as his large body jolted, turning back around and fixing wide black eyes on Castiel's face. "Will you help me?" he asked, his fingers twitching like he'd be reaching for Castiel if he could – though now the dog knew he didn't see Castiel. Not really. "I need to kill her. For Dean."

"Yes," Castiel replied, voice soft and coaxing as he used the cloth to wipe Sam's hair from his face, where it was sticking to his temples and his neck. "For Dean. I understand."

"I gotta…" Sam swallowed, the tears starting to leak out, tendons straining in his neck as his body arched and shuddered from another hot flush of the poison clinging to him, desperate to hold onto its host and fight back. "Gotta make it up to Dean."

 _I hate you_ , Castiel snarled, trying his best to keep his expression impassive but he wasn't sure how well he was doing – the colors had sharpened, red and orange standing out in the way they did when his demon vision was at the forefront, black concealing his eyes. _If I hadn't promised you safety, I would have ripped you to pieces just for this._

 _We're in a war,_ Ruby snapped, rolling inside of Castiel's stomach in a way that made him gag. _Soldiers die. There are casualties._

 _I hate you_ , Castiel said again, taking the near-empty bowl and emptying it down the small gutter at the edge of the room, setting the cup inside. He wetted the cloth again with new, cool water from the faucet and folded it before carefully placing it on Sam's forehead. "You are strong, Sam, and you can fight through this," he said softly. "For Dean."

"For Dean," Sam repeated, soft sobs racking his body as he turned his face away. Castiel left the room swiftly, unable to bear the sounds of Sam's tortured screams and the way his anguish tainted every single sound – it was awful, had Castiel collapsing against the rail and dry heaving onto the stairs below him, sick to his stomach and angry beyond belief.

His snarl echoed around the basement, his teeth bared and eyes shining with hatred. Ruby's essence was coiled tight inside of him, pulsing anxiety and fear. Good. She should be afraid of him – because he was going to make her pay. Every single slight she had made against Sam and against Dean, he was going to make her regret it tenfold and grind her into dust beneath his feet.

 _Hey, now, there's no need to get annihilistic on me -_.

"Don't -." Castiel swallowed, snarling over his shoulder as though she was standing right behind him. It was a habit from when he had more heads than one, able to look into his own eyes and rage at what he saw. Heaven, Hell and Earth were not meant to exist as one thing. "Don't say another word to me, or I swear -."

_You'll what? Eat me? You already did that, mutt. Guaranteeing a demon's safety doesn't leave you with many options now, does it?_

Castiel paused for a moment, forcing himself to calm down as he lifted his eyes to the door leading out of Bobby's basement, cracked open so that he could come and leave as he pleased. The memory of Dean locking him in here not even a week ago surged in his brain, and he chuckled, shaking his head. "No, you're right," he said, hefting himself up the stairs and ascending swiftly. "You are safe from my hand until Lilith is dead, and then you are free to go on your way."

 _Right_ , Ruby said, a little hesitantly, sensing the calm inside of the dog now and not liking it one bit.

Castiel hummed, climbing up the last few steps and closing the door to the basement behind him. Dean's absence in the house unnerved him, but Castiel forced himself not to follow his scent and track him down outside like the ridiculous overgrown house-puppy he was. He could already hear Dean's teasing, and he vowed not to antagonize the man further since he had not gotten Sam's explicit consent to tell him the reason his brother was sick.

"You know," he mused, climbing up the stairs towards Dean's bedroom, needing the familiar scent of his master around him to settle his wild emotions and churning stomach, "demons go missing all the time. Die all the time – by other demons or hunters…" He paused at Dean's door, lightly tracing his fingertips over the brass handle before turning it and stepping inside, leaving the door wide open. He walked over to the window, glad that he could actually see Dean if he braced his shoulder against the glass closest to Dean's bed and leaned his head against the cool surface. The Hunter was pacing outside, clearly agitated. He looked like a prowling beast, an animal, and Castiel bit his lower lip, eyes dark as he watched, able to see the Hellfire crawling just under his skin.

Dean was a phenomenon, a fire and flood, cleansing and purifying and Castiel missed him. He missed him and needed him and _wanted_ him so damn much it was downright sickening.

Ruby's voice pulled him away from his vigil; _I'm smarter than you give me credit for, mutt._

Castiel nodded, pursing his lips. "You are smart," he said, "I already acknowledged that. Your schemes for Sam were almost perfect – they were perfect, should I say, had I not gotten in the way of them." He folded his arms across his chest, sighing heavily. "But I never said I had to be the one to kill you. Tell me, how do you think Dean will react when he finds out you're the reason for his brother's suffering?"

Ruby's essence froze. _He can't find out_ , she hissed, _'cause your loyalty's got you tongue-tied, and he can't kill me when I'm in you, and by the time you let me go, I'll be in the Matrix, mutt. You'll never find me._

Castiel smiled, but didn't answer. His eyes were drawn to Dean abruptly stopping in his pacing, chin raised as he stared at something that was behind a pile of cars, so that Castiel couldn't see. The dog straightened, nostrils flaring as though he could scent the air even though it was impossible from his position.

He watched as Dean shied back, reaching for his gun, before an arm reached out and both Dean and the mysterious figure disappeared. Castiel snarled. _Angels_. Fuck, he knew he shouldn't have let Dean go outside!

He turned, running for the door, only to have it slam closed, sealing him inside. "Damn it, no! Dean!" He slammed his hand against the door, frustrated and helpless. Sam couldn't let him out this time, and Bobby – where was Bobby? Had the Angels dealt with the older Hunter as well? Was he simply out on a food run? It didn't matter – there was no telling what they could have done to Dean while he was stuck in here. Every second he wasted was precious now – God, _no_ , they had _taken Dean_ , they'd…

He sucked in a breath, trying to still his flying heart and get control of himself. Now was not the time to lose his head, to lose focus – he'd already let himself slip, arguing with Ruby and stepping away from Dean, and now Dean was gone and he was trapped and -.

 _You know…_ Ruby's voice was an unwelcome intrusion into his thoughts and he snarled at her. _Those sigils don't ward against me. I could let you out._

Castiel laughed. "Do you take me for a fool?" he challenged.

_It's either that or let them rip your precious Hunter to shreds trying to get him primed and ready for Angel dick. Which would you prefer?_

Castiel's fingers curled into his palms, nails biting hard enough to draw blood. No. _No_. Dean would never forgive him for something like this – the Hunter was strong, he could fight. Castiel _knew_ he could fight.

But.

They could tell him things – lies, slander, half-truths to spin his story. They could distort and mangle his character and his mission to twist Dean to their side. Castiel had seen it happen before, it could happen again. They would stop at nothing to get Dean willing and ready, an eager accomplice to their cause.

But to let out the demon who, whether Dean knew it or not, was responsible for his brother's suffering? Who would surely use her freedom in some way to fuck up whatever tenuous head start Castiel had gotten on the competition? Could potentially cost everything he'd fought for, bled for – everything that he had managed to build with Dean, rubble in her wake?

_Your choice, mutt._

Castiel closed his eyes, and breathed out.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel makes a tough call, and Dean has an even tougher one to face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so I'm trash but I updated the damn thing :D

 

_Tick tock, mutt. What's it gonna be?_

Castiel snarled, turning away from the sealed door and slamming his palm against the glass window. Dean was missing. Dean was _gone_.

The glass shook under his hand, but held.

There used to be a time when Castiel was not simply orders, not simply a dog eager to heel at his master's side. But he couldn't remember that; before Dean, it had been Hell, before Hell, Heaven. He had always followed _someone_.

Abruptly, Castiel's eyes were drawn to movement down below. There was a shadow, padding quietly between the husks of cars – there was no physical body attached to that shadow, but as it moved it left deep gouges in the gravel below and rocks scattered under its feet.

Castiel felt his frown give way to a smile.

Perhaps it was time to be a leader, now.

"Is that one yours?" he asked, allowing Ruby's demon essence to push into the backs of his eyelids so that she could see the hound sniffing curiously around the discarded car shells. It paused and sniffed at a tire, ears flopping on top of its head as it snorted and padded away. It hadn't fully solidified yet, not having been given a human soul to chase and rip apart, and Castiel knew that if Sam or Bobby would look outside they would not have been able to see it.

It bore the same vague shape as a Doberman, with its triangular face and long, sleek legs. Its eyes were rotted out and glowed yellow and there were chunks of muddy, matted skin hanging off of its torso and towards the ground. Wherever it touched it left thick, deep claw marks against the ground, its mouth open and baring long, sharp teeth as it sniffed around the junkyard.

Ruby retreated, hiding herself deeper inside of Castiel's vessel. _Yes_ , she said, a little hesitantly.

Castiel grinned, cocking his head to one side. "How much do you want to bet that this house is warded against Hellhounds?"

He raised his fingers to his lips and, without waiting for her answer, placed them between his teeth, giving a short, sharp whistle. Immediately the dog's head snapped up, pointed ears cocked towards the house and eyes flashing red.

It growled, squaring off against the house, sharp eyes looking through all the windows.

Castiel whistled again and tapped his fingers against the glass, his grin widening when the dog's eyes finally landed on him and its mouth split open wider into a vicious snarl. "Hello," he said, when the dog's mouth opened wider, skin wrinkling as it snarled and stepped closer. "Catch me if you can."

He pushed away from the window when the dog started to run for him. There was nowhere for him to escape to, so he sat himself down on the edge of the bed and listened with a slowly widening smile as he heard wood splintering from downstairs. Ruby's black soul recoiled and rolled inside of him, giving him a faintly nauseous feeling and he grimaced, placing a hand to his stomach as he waited out the animal.

"Nervous?" he taunted, grinning to himself when she hissed and pushed against the walls of his vessel, causing him to feel tight-chested when he laughed. "I thought you said he was yours?" He paused, cocking his head to one side. "You weren't _lying_ , were you?"

_Fuck you, mutt._

"Mm, sorry sweetheart, I don't swing that way." The dog pushed himself to his feet when he heard the low growls in the house getting closer to his room. If he listened carefully, he could hear the wood peeling under its feet. "Come on, come on," he muttered impatiently, frowning at the other side of the door as the hound paced around outside, sniffing carefully at the door. He could see the shadow passing back and forth, snarling lowly. "Come on! I'm right here!"

Abruptly, the corridor outside fell silent, and Castiel bared his teeth in a snarl, black slamming into the back of his eyes when suddenly the door shuddered under the force of a mighty blow. The dog paced, ready for the hound to attack him when it managed to beat the door down.

"Come on, you little bitch!" he taunted, listening to the snarling grow louder and heavier outside of the door. The frame around it shuddered, dust falling from the corners, and slowly Castiel drew his sword out and held it ready, his wrist relaxed but his grip tight.

The door shattered apart into three huge pieces, the hound barreling through with its eyes glowing red and its jaw held wide open and ready. Castiel sidestepped, bringing the hilt of his blade down against the base of the hound's skull. It yelped, snarling and whirling around as Castiel held his sword out, pointed between the beast's eyes.

"Now, now, let's play nice," he said, his voice low when the hound snarled at him again. "I leave for a _few_ days and you all turn feral, I swear."

The hound snarled at him, pacing back and forth, its eyes uncaring for the sharp blade pointed its way and fixed instead on Castiel's chest. The room stank of sulfur and blood-tinged saliva was dripping down from its open mouth and onto the floor.

Castiel smirked. "Oh, but it's not me you want, isn't it?" He slowly lifted his blade and sheathed it, pleased when the hound took a step forward but remained a relatively unthreatening distance away. Hounds were meant to police the souls that belonged in Hell – they didn't serve demons, specifically, but kept an eye on them. After all, Cerberus was meant to know who left and who entered Hell; every single person. And he always knew, because his brothers and sisters where his eyes, his ears to the ground.

Slowly, the hound's eyes were facing back to yellow, even though it hadn't stopped snarling. Castiel didn't think his brothers and sisters ever could, anymore. "I'll make you a trade," he said, nodding once when the hound licked its jaws, taking another step closer. "Find Dean Winchester. Tell everyone. Then…" He patted his stomach with a wink. "She's all yours."

The hound snarled, and then it was out of the door and running out of the house within a moment. Ruby shrieked at him from within his vessel, beating against the dog's powerful essence with all of her might.

 _You Goddamned mutt! I knew a fucking_ dog _couldn't be trusted!_

Castiel laughed, drawing his sword again and walking slowly down the stairs. Soon the word would spread, the hounds would find Dean and they would bring him back, and Sam would be cured and they could all go after Lilith together, as a team.

The two broken vessels and a wayward guardian of Hell. What could go wrong?

 

 

The room was…nice. Nice in that classy, European 'don't touch the walls' way. There was a plate of hamburgers and a cooler of beer on a gleaming wooden table in the middle, and on the walls there were paintings of Angels, statues lining the walls, and overall it had a very uncomfortable, too-manicured feeling about it.

Dean felt an itch under his skin. He'd never been partial to the color white.

His fingers dragged across the perfectly dusted surface of the table as he looked around, frowning as he spied a familiar sight; having studied through a crapton of Angel lore, he recognized the famous image of Michael striking Lucifer down to Hell. He searched the painting carefully, wondering if one of those many Angels coming from above to strike their weapons into the 'demons' below could have been Castiel. Had he been a real Angel, or a dog up there as well?

He reached up, letting a finger trace the line of one of Lucifer's wings. So this son of the bitch was meant to be the one riding Sam to the prom. And Michael – well, at least Dean got the better looking Angel.

The thought made him smirk, shaking his head, and he tore his eyes away to look at the collection of beatific statues. One of them was a female Angel holding up a chalice, the entire statue made of grey plaster. Dean pursed his lips out, picking it up and looking over the feathered wings.

Castiel's weren't like these. At least, not all of them.

He set the Angel down and looked up, having heard the soft flutter of wings cutting through the air. Turning around, he saw the familiar vessel of the Angel that had captured him and Castiel before – he frowned, trying to remember the name – Uriel.

"Well, if it isn't Act Two of 'Dicks With Wings'," he said, cocking his head to one side and calmly walking to another part of the room so that the table was between them. It probably wouldn't do him any good but it was nice to have the barrier there anywhere. "Where the Hell am I?"

"Safe," Uriel replied, smirking. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his suit pants and he rocked onto the balls of his feet and back, the picture of superiority and nonchalance. Dean huffed, shaking his head, and turned away.

"Right," he said, looking around the room. "It's fancy, I'll give you that, but it's still a cage."

Uriel snorted. "You wouldn't know the first thing about cages, boy," he said, and Dean swallowed hard but forced himself to remain quiet. His fingers itched for his weapons, but they had been taken away from him once he'd been attacked. He hadn't been in here long enough to go hungry or fall asleep, so that could be anywhere from two to six hours.

"Fine, so. Why am I here?"

Uriel grinned, pulling his hands from his pockets and spreading them out in a welcoming gesture. "Why, to hear our sales pitch, of course," he said, his smile a little too wide to be friendly. "You mud monkeys are far too stubborn for your own good, and you -." He pointed to Dean, "You really take the cake in that respect. We think a little one-on-one with the higher-ups will convince you."

Dean's upper lip twitched, and he barely stifled the urge to snarl. "Kickstarting the possession part already? Aren't you a few seals behind?" he asked, secretly, fiercely glad when Uriel blinked, apparently surprised.

"Your lapdog's been running his mouth."

"Been a lot more open with information than you guys have, yeah," Dean said, lifting his chin in a defiant gesture, smiling. "I know what sayin' 'Yes' is gonna cost me. _And_ Sam. So, no, thanks for the _generous_ offer but you can kindly cram it where the sun don't shine -."

"What if we could give you something in return?" Uriel countered, his dark eyes sharp and shrewd. Dean shook his head, ready to tell him to stick it to himself again when the Angel continued; "We'll fix that wall in your head. Give you all your memories back – the good and the bad."

Dean frowned. "For a 'Yes'?" he asked.

Uriel nodded. "The final seals aren't as far from breaking as we'd like, and we cannot afford to wait past Lucifer's rising for you to unclench and figure yourself out. We will give you all the time with your little puppy as you want, and we will give you your memories. In return, you will say 'Yes' to Michael when the time comes."

Dean swallowed, taking a step back. "What about Sam?"

Uriel cocked his head to one side, nodding after a moment. "If Sam remains safe, and doesn't say 'Yes', then Michael will have his True Vessel," he gestured to all of Dean's self, "and Lucifer will be stuck in whatever meat suit he can find. It'll be a quick, fair fight – totally risk-free on precious Sammy's end."

The shark smile was back, toothy and wide.

"What do you say, Winchester? You willing to listen now?"


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for quick updates, huh? I'd recommend rereading at least the last chapter before this one 'cause some of these scenes happen very closely in time with the stuff that happens before.  
> *whispers* I am utter trash.

 

The small, blonde child melted out of the rows of cars. She was flanked on either side by two large, suited men. The sun was shining down brightly upon the house in front of them, and she lifted her palm to shield her eyes from the glare, squinting upwards.

"Go," she commanded, her young voice too high for the vicious order, but the men obeyed with a subservient nod, stalking forward, their limbs moving awkwardly akimbo like she imagined Doctor Frankenstein's monster would have first moved; unused to the slide of sinew and muscle underneath foreign skin.

One demon stayed behind, and stepped in front of her in silence, hands folded behind his back, just at the perfect point to block out the sun. She lowered her hand and gifted him a cherubic, toothy smile.

"Alistair," she said, her grin widening when the demon turned, grey-ice eyes gazing down at her. She lifted her hand and he bent down to kiss it, the same way older men do when confronted with little girls that should always be smiling.

"Lilith," he replied with a nod, straightening up again. "A pleasure, as always."

She hummed, flattening her bloody hands across the stomach of her pleated, pink dress. "I like the cut of this one," she said, her eyes going marbled and grey as she did a small twirl, letting the skirt fly out around her white-stocking-clad, slim legs. She came to a stop with a giggle, bloody hands against her mouth.

"It suits you," Alistair said, rocking onto his heels. He sniffed the air, upper lip wrinkling in distaste. "It smells like dog here."

"Of course it does," Lilith replied, pouting her lower lip. "You let Kerebos off the leash. Who else would he go running to?"

Alistair hummed, lifting his chin and remaining silent as the two demons came back out. "All clear," one of them said, coming forward to a stop in front of Lilith. "Neither Dean Winchester nor the dog are in the house."

"Good." Lilith grinned widely. "Anything else?"

The demon hesitated, shifting his weight, before he cleared his throat and said; "No trace of Bobby Singer, but Sam Winchester is trapped in a demon-proofed room. We can't open it, can't even get near the damn thing."

Slowly the smile melted off of the little girl's face, replaced with a stern, disapproving look that only a child could possibly manage. "Try," she said flatly, grey eyes unblinking while the demon shifted his weight again, mouth twisting, before he gave a nod of acquiescence. "Good!" She clapped her hands, giggling again. "And once you break him out, we can be on our way. Sooner the better, boys, get on with it!"

The demons turned away with frowns on their faces.

Lilith waited until they were out of sight before the smile slid away again, her hands dropping to her side as she gazed into the darkness of the house.

"Alistair," she said.

"Yes, love?"

"Make sure they do it right." She cocked her head to one side, her eyes falling back to the light blue of her human meat suit's, eyeing the deep gouges just visible around the edges of the some of the cars. It really did smell like dog, all over the place. "I want Sam Winchester unharmed." She waved a careless hand, turning and disappearing back into the garden of rusting cars. "You know what to do."

Once she'd disappeared, Alistair grinned and walked towards the house, a spring in his step.

"Yes, I certainly do."

 

 

"So, Winchester." Dean was really starting to hate this Uriel dick. He came around like clockwork, when Dean bothered to count the minutes. Every twenty, the Angel showed back up, as though by keeping a regular schedule of shit he might persuade Dean to change his tune.

Hell, Dean had been close, a couple times. The thought of saving Sam any suffering, of ending this thing before it really began – it was an attractive offer, he'd give them that. And Hell, if it got him out of this Godforsaken cage, all the better.

"Cas said -." He paused, swallowing, straightening up. "Cas said only I could break through his wall, the thing keepin' my memories back. Not even he could take it away, and he built the damn thing himself. What makes you think you can?"

Uriel smirked, hands in his pockets, and shook his head as though Dean was the most unfortunate, misled soul he'd ever laid eyes upon. "He _lied_ ," Uriel murmured with a flick of his wrist. "Things like this are very common, you know – Hell, do you know how many walls we've put inside your head ourselves?"

Dean frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Every time you died, Dean – and you've died a _bunch_ – where do you think you went? You just don't remember." Uriel shrugged one shoulder. "It's a common thing we do. God didn't want you to remember your time upstairs."

The Hunter laughed – it was a short and bitter thing. "Yeah, if only he could sort out the downstairs, too. God's not in Hell; never has been."

Uriel shook his head. "You _are_ a stubborn one, I'll give you that," he said, and he sounded almost impressed. Dean turned away with another huff, crossing the room and turning once again so that his back was to the wall, arms folded tight over his shoulders.

"I'm not sayin' 'Yes'," he growled, narrowing his eyes. "Let me go, or kill me. I got nothin' left to say to you."

Uriel regarded him for a moment, before he seemed to subside with an accepting nod, pursing his lips. "Alright, alright," he said, raising his hands in a peaceful gesture. Then, he chuckled, a wry smile spreading across his face. "You know, Dean, I like you," he said, cocking his finger towards Dean. He began to step around the table separating them, circling slow like a predator, and Dean went tense, fingers itching for a weapon. "And because I like you so much, I'm gonna make you one final sales pitch."

Dean's eyes narrowed.

The Angel paused, and turned away to lift down the giant, stunning image of Lucifer's Fall down from the wall, revealing a large blank space where it once hung. With a wave of his hand the wall melted away, revealing a bird's eye view of the panic room in which Dean had left Sam.

Immediately Dean was on high alert, unfolding from his defensive position near the wall. He took a step forward, eyes wide as he looked at the vision. "What is this?" he demanded. It was as though he was really floating at the top of the room. He could hear the whir of the slow fan, smell the stale stink of Sam's unwashed, sweating body.

As he watched, Sam convulsed in his bed, screaming as another wave of demon blood withdrawal racked through him. It pierced Dean's head, as though Sam was screaming right in his ear, and he flinched and covered his ears, glaring down at the vision.

He turned away, glaring at Uriel's satisfied expression. "This is a trick," he growled.

"You're going to want to keep watching."

Eyes narrowed, Dean followed the line of Uriel's pointing hand. The door to the panic room flew open. Dean didn't see who had opened the door, but there was a hiss of pain, the stench of burning flesh. It couldn't be Castiel – Castiel couldn't get into the panic room. Bobby? Where the fuck was he?

Dean's eyes widened when the bed to which Sam was chained began to move. Slowly, inching, it screeched as the metal feet dragged along the concrete floor. Sam kept screaming, but as Dean watched, the closer he got to the door, the quieter he got, his eyes flying open, head tilted to one side as far as it could go when he had a strap of leather around his forehead and jaw to keep him still.

His hands bunched into fists, knuckles white. When he opened his mouth it was wet with spit, and this time he did not scream. It was a growl – something hungry, something feral.

The light shut off as hands reached for Sam. "No!" Dean yelled, running forward and slamming his hands against the wall, as though it was merely a frame of glass that he could fall through and back into where Sam was, so that he could fight and protect his little brother as he had been doing all his life. When the lights flickered back on, the bed was on its side and Sam was nowhere in sight.

Dean recoiled at the sight of the puddle of blood, slowly growing outward. There was a disgusting sound, the sound of an animal drinking greedily from fresh water.

Dean knew. Dean knew, but he refused to look. "This is a trick," he hissed, slamming his fist against the wall again before he turned away. That grey plaster Angel with the chalice stared up at him from her perch on the side table, and without thinking he picked it up and flung it back at the wall, where it shattered into a hundred pieces and smeared grey dust along the wall. "That wasn't real!"

"Are you willing to take that chance?" Uriel asked, kicking dispassionately at the Angel's head where it had rolled to a stop against his toe. "This is an easy choice, Dean Winchester. Say 'Yes', and stop the Apocalypse before it can happen – that clock is ticking slow, slow, slowly away…"

"Go fuck yourself," Dean growled, turning away again. He braced his hands against the side table he'd just thrown the Angel from, breathing out, his eyes closing. He didn't need to hear the flutter of wings to know that Uriel had gone. Classic tactic – let himself stew in his own failures and think himself into a corner, force himself to rationalize the 'Yes' whatever way he needed.

Dean had tortured a fair few in his time. He knew how this kind of thing played out.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and tried not to think about the sound of Sam's screaming. From up in his room, the sounds had been muffled enough that he could pretend it was just the creaking of the house, But now, having heard it in stereo fucking surround, he couldn't just shrug it off like usual. That was _Sam_ , and illusion or not Dean had never been able to handle the sound of his baby brother in pain, especially pain like that.

Those kinds of screams belonged in Hell.

Dean was going to fucking _cut_ some bitches when he got the fuck out of here, of that he was absolutely certain.

How had they even gotten to Sam? Bobby, well, fuck, Dean hadn't seen Bobby for hours when he went outside, but Castiel had _been in there_. He'd been in the Goddamn house with Dean. Surely he'd have heard something? Surely he'd have protected Sam?

If only there was some way to actually _talk_ to someone on the outside, but Dean didn't even have his phone with him. He was stuck without a line.

Abruptly he sucked in a breath, eyes opening, straightening up.

Hadn't Castiel said that he would hear Dean's thoughts, his 'prayers'? Wasn't that how the whole 'master-servant' soul-bond shit _worked_? Dean remembered, he must have remembered, Castiel saying that. He'd always heard him in Hell. He'd always known when Dean wanted him by his side.

"…Cas?" he whispered, sure that if he spoke too loudly the Angels would come running. He looked around, sure for some stupid reason that that was all it would take – one word, and Castiel would be there, and everything would be at least a little closer to okay. "Cas, I don't – fuck, I don't even know if you can hear me, but…but I really need your help, man."

 

 

_I don't know where I am, but they – fuck. They got Sam. I need bustin' out of here. I need help._

The thoughts came in slowly, like a trickle of water through a rusted pipe. But they grew, momentum and volume until they were crashing inside of Castiel's head, deafening, drowning out everything else, every other thought except Dean, _Dean, Dean_.

_I dunno if you even know I'm gone, but I am, and I need you to bust me out, Cas. I need your help, and I sure as Hell trust you a helluva lot more than I trust these winged dicks._

Castiel growled, lifting his chin as he heard one of his brothers howling. He stretched his wings, pushing as hard as he can.

_If you can hear me, Cas, please. We're runnin' out of time, man._

 


	18. Chapter Eighteen

There was a demon stalking around the bottom of the basement stairs. There was light streaming from the open door of the panic room, spilling out in a wide triangle along the wooden floor. The demon was crouched, ready for an attack, its eyes black and its breathing heavy.

That small patch of light was all the exposure Sam needed. He rose from the carcass of the other demon he'd just slaughtered, his face red with blood, and lifted his upper lip in a snarl.

"Fuck," the demon breathed, taking a step back, but then Sam was on him. His fist collided with the demon's face, sending him to the ground with one blow. Then his other hand wrapped around its throat and started to squeeze.

The scent of blood was burning hot in his nose and he was so _thirsty_ , it felt like he would drain the whole damn world before he would be satisfied. His teeth easily parted the demon's skin and he sank his teeth into its throat, ripping until he felt the first hot gush of blood sliding down his throat.

The demon slumped to the ground with a low gargling cry and Sam followed it, cradling the thing's meat suit like a lost lover, his face buried in its bleeding neck until the last beat rumbled through his mouth and he had sucked down as much blood as he possibly could.

The body fell down the last few steps to a crumpled heap on the ground and Sam wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, breathing deep. He felt _alive_ , for the first time in days, the blood surging through him and making him feel strong and powerful and _unstoppable_.

But this was all wrong. Where the fuck had these guys come from?

Another darker part of Sam whispered that if there were more where they came from, then he could keep drinking and drink and drink until he was finally sated and the heavy, satisfied feeling in his gut would finally return after days of hunger.

Where was Ruby? He had _just_ seen her.

Sam lifted his face to the open door leading to the rest of Bobby's house, and he sucked in another deep breath, chest heaving, before he scrambled to his feet and hurried upstairs. Demons were in the house, that meant demons were nearby, and Dean and Bobby were in danger.

But Dean had…had that dog, right?

Sam burst through the door and out into the brightly-illuminated kitchen. He shielded his eyes with a low sound, taking in another deep breath, and blinked several times before his vision cleared and adjusted to the darkness.

Everything was tinged with a light layer of red, and Sam was dizzy, hardly able to stand.

Outside, he heard a childish, girly giggle. Frowning, he bent his head and peered outside to see a girl and a tall man standing next to her, both of them chatting amiably. The girl's dress and hands were coated with blood.

Sam's eyes narrowed, and he backed away. He needed a weapon.

 

 

Alistair sighed and made a show of checking his watch. "Will this take much longer?"

Lilith hummed. "Well, since we wouldn't be here if you haven't gotten yourself captured and almost killed, I think you can keep your impatience to yourself." She gifted him with a bright, toothy grin. "We had to wait for the stupid brother and that dog to leave, so however long this takes, it will take."

Alistair subsided with a small huff, holding his hands behind his back, and rocked onto his heels. Then, he tilted his head to one side at the sound of metal shifting, creaking, behind them. He turned, his eyes narrowing when a shadow passed between two stacks of cars.

"Interesting," Alistair said, prompting Lilith to turn her head as well.

There were hounds prowling between the cars, their yellow-red eyes fixed on the standing demons. They were gently steaming as though burned, patches of fur melted away to reveal bone and muscle moving fluidly in strong, loping strides.

There were four of them, two with their eyes fixed on Alistair, two on Lilith.

Lilith held out a hand, her power shattering through the air and beating the hounds back, but they simply lowered their heads and growled more loudly, incensed by the attack and the display of power.

"Perhaps," Alistair began, too calmly, "that is not the wisest move."

"They're just _dogs_ ," Lilith replied with an unhappy frown, pushing more power into the move until the dogs gave soft howls of anger, but continued to advance. "Powerful dogs, I'll grant, but definitely just dogs. Get _back_!"

The dog closest to Alistair growled, baring its rotting teeth. All the teeth were mixing except for two elongated saber-like fangs dropping down through its lower jaw, so that when its jaw closed it would impale itself and be completely able to wrap its teeth around something's leg or neck and pull it completely free.

"Perhaps we should leave," he said.

"No," Lilith shrieked. "We have to do this _now!_ " She let out another angry wail, holding up her second hand. "I will keep them back. Go get Sam Winchester right now."

Alistair tipped an imaginary hat, before he turned and strode towards the house. "As you wish."

 

 

Dean kept praying, but he was getting desperate. It had been twelve minutes since Uriel had disappeared and that meant twelve minutes where Sam was gone or missing or _dead_ and Dean had no idea how to help him or what to do. He had to say 'Yes', just to get them to let him out. Fuck, he was stuck. He was trapped like a Goddamn hunted animal.

With a frustrated yell he picked up one of the statues lining the side of the room and hurled it across the room, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as it shattered against the opposite wall. Of course, it didn't help the situation and as soon as he realized that the frustration returned with a vengeance. He was tempted to just keep throwing shit like the temper tantrum-having child he wanted to be right now, just to stick it to them harder and mess up their fancy green room, but he had a feeling that their 'patience' would only extend so far.

He picked up another thing and threw it just because he could, and that was when the howl started up. "Fuck," Dean hissed, backing away from the blank wall where Uriel had shown him Sam. It was subtle, barely a change he would have noticed had he not been looking, but it looked like the paint was yellowing, the pretty golden leaf on the top of the wall drooping as though melting, dripping down onto the floor below.

"Shit," Dean said, wiping a hand over his face as he felt the temperature in the room rising, like they were trying to burn him out. He was already starting to sweat and he backed away from the wall, looking around as the air started to get warm and moist, hard to breathe. The gold was starting to melt all around him.

Hounds were howling, and if he listened very closely he could hear the ungodly screech of their claws on the outside of the wall. Dean cursed again, wishing for the thousandth time that he had been allowed to keep his weapons, but he had nothing to help with Hellhounds.

The wall was suddenly ripped in half, three long claw marks slashing through the yellowing wall and ripping it out. Cold air rushed in and Dean gasped, his eyes wide and fixed on the shape of a gigantic dog's head. Its eyes were a bright, brilliant white and it had golden armor framing its face.

It loomed over the room, gazing down with all the imperious power of an age-old creature, and Dean couldn't help grinning in recognition.

"Hey, Cas," he called, so weak with relief that his voice barely came out with any volume.

The dog huffed and Dean could see the eyes of the other two heads glowing in the darkness beyond. Kerebos opened his mouth, wide and bright, and set his jaw down on the floor. Dean looked at it with a raised eyebrow, before he shook his head.

"You've gotta be kidding me, Cas, really?"

The dog huffed again, its breath icy cold and chilling on Dean's face.

"I'd tell you to eat me, but -."

Dean cut himself off with a shake of his head, carefully stepping forward and carefully sliding himself between two of the dog's gigantic fangs. It was like he had stepped into an ice locker and he shivered, pulling his coat tighter around himself as Castiel lifted his head, his jaws closing just enough that Dean could still stand and hold onto one of his shining teeth, and could easily see outside.

Dean shut his eyes against the vertigo, pushing his clammy forehead against the giant fang he'd used to prop himself again, and heard the sound of wings cracking through the air. There was a low growl from some other giant creature that he guessed was a second head, and the howls of the hounds around him were deafening.

Then, silence.

 

 

"Come out; come out, wherever you are…"

Alistair looked up distastefully at the Devil's Trap painting onto the ceiling, carefully sidestepping it to allow him to pass through. Aside from the entry-way the place was almost pitifully lacking in wards, and he tutted to himself and ran a finger across one of the shelves as he passed. The whole house reeked of neglect.

He stepped into the main room, eyeing the stacks of books and the open, recently-used Bibles and religious texts scattered across the old stained desk, and smiled to himself, before turning around.

"All juiced up and ready to go, aren't we?" Alistair asked, grinning and shaking his head as Sam revealed himself, his hand desperately clutching the demon-killing knife and holding it out, ready to swing and attack.

"Where is my brother?" Sam demanded, showing his red teeth. His eyes were that of a wild animal.

Alistair lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "I honestly have no idea, and I don't really much care. Perhaps he's out fucking that pet he brought back with him." Sam didn't react to that, so Alistair sighed and waved a dismissive hand. "Or maybe he's gone to contemplate how much of a failure he is for letting you get this bad. Who knows?"

"Don't talk about him like that," Sam hissed. "You don't know him."

Alistair laughed. "Oh. Do you have any idea who I am?"

Sam shook his head. "Doesn't matter to me."

He lunged forward, the knife swinging in a broad arc, but with a wave of his hand Alistair sent Sam crashing back, looking almost bored as he did so. He sighed. "Please don't make me hurt you. Lilith wants you alive."

He took a step forward, but then abruptly stopped, fingers flying to his throat. Sam's eyes were black, his free hand raised, his teeth bared in effort as he extended his will and wrapped it tight around Alistair's throat, around his black soul.

"I want you dead," Sam bit out, tightening his fingers slowly. Alistair's eyes widened and he hissed in anger. Red light burst out behind his eyes and within his open mouth as Sam extended his will, trying to force him out, snuff him out a candle light in a closed jar.

Sam pushed himself slowly to his feet, his fist almost completely closed as he struggled to force the last of Alistair's dark soul into submission. "Is Lilith outside?" he asked, keeping the demon alive just long enough to get an answer.

Alistair spat at him, snarling, and Sam figured that was answer enough.

He closed his fist completely, his shoulders rolling and straightening as he felt the power ripping through him. A smile tugged at his bloody lips as he watched the demon sputter and die, the impressive lightshow hardly registering with him before he let the carcass fall to the floor. The man was dead, killed already by Dean's wound to his heart. Sam didn't even give him a second thought.

Lilith was outside.

 

 

When Dean opened his eyes he was standing in the front room of Bobby's house. He looked around wildly, but couldn't see Castiel. His coat was dusted with frost along the shoulders and he hurriedly brushed it off.

"Sam!" he yelled, his voice cracking. "Sammy! Cas!"

"Dean, out here!" came Castiel's reply.

Dean ran to the back of the house and out through the kitchen door, skidding to a stop at what he saw.

There were four hounds surrounding the shape of a little girl. She was sobbing, her blonde hair whipping wildly around her face as she sobbed. Her bright, teary eyes were fixed on Sam – Sam, covered in blood, his hand extended towards her with a knife in his other hand.

The dogs around her were snarling and Dean ran forward, hauling Sam's arm away.

"Sam, stop!" he yelled, backing away when Sam rounded on him with a snarl. His eyes were a horrible mix of black and their normal green-gold mix, and Dean swallowed hard, looking at the blood smeared around Sam's mouth, reddening his teeth.

So Uriel hadn't lied to him.

 _Fuck_.

"Sam, it's not Lilith," Dean said, holding his hands out. "Look at her, Sammy. She's just a little girl. She's just a little girl -."

"She's _Lilith_ ," Sam growled. "The demon _said so_."

"God, Sammy, no."

Dean's chest felt all tight, hot. He had no idea what to do. "Cas, tell him!"

The dog was perched on a stack of car carcasses, looking down dispassionately at the little girl surrounded by four of his feral, lesser brothers. "They seem to think she's a demon, Dean," he said, his head cocked to one side, one eyebrow raised. His eyes were black too.

"God damn it, Cas, look at her!"

Dean shook his head, hauling at Sam's arm again. "Call them off, Cas. Call them the fuck off right now!"

The dog looked at him, his eyes narrowed, before he let out a loud, sharp whistle, prompting the hounds to turn their heads up to him, before they snarled and disappeared between the shells of cars again.

Sam finally seemed to subside, seeing the animals leave. He blinked at his eyes abruptly cleared. "Dean, I -."

"S'okay, Sammy. Let's -."

Lilith straightened, laughing, and her eyes slid to a cold, slate grey. Dean immediately cursed, pulling Sam behind him with a rough jerk of his hand.

"You are both _weak_ ," Lilith cried, clapping her hands together in giddy joy. Castiel let out a horrendous, loud snarl from where he was perched, pushing himself to his feet. The shadows of his wings spread out thick and black over the house, almost obscuring the daylight. "Bye, mutt!" Lilith called cheerfully, before she disappeared.

Castiel lunged for her, skidding to the ground on his hands and knees when he met nothing but empty air. "No!" he yelled, slamming his fist into the ground with enough force to send the nearest stack of cars toppling over with a loud crash. "No! _Damn it_."

He stood, casting an angry look at Dean before he turned to where his brothers were still prowling. " _Find her_ ," he hissed, his voice low and deadly calm. "Find her! Rip her apart!"

The howl rose up around the Winchester brothers, and Dean's eyes widened before he tugged Sam frantically back towards the house. "We gotta go, Sammy, we gotta go."

"I had her, Dean!" Sam yelled, struggling as hard as he could. Pumped up as he was, running high on demon blood, Dean had no strength to fight him and he had to let Sam go. Then Sam had his hand up and Dean was slammed back onto the ground, a light pressure at his neck warning him to stay down. "I had her. This could have been over!"

Dean could barely breathe, let alone speak. "Sammy," he tried to say, wincing when Sam's fist twitched, fingers curling. "Fuck -."

" _Sam_." That was Castiel, catching Sam's attention. His face was a dark mask of rage, but this time it was fixed on Sam's face, on his extended arm that was hurting his master. "Let him go, before I make you regret it."

Sam's upper lip curled back, before he let Dean go with a dismissive flick of his hand. Dean gasped, rolling onto his side as he tried to breathe.

"Those fucking dogs better find her," he heard Sam growl. "We're not gonna get another chance."

Castiel smirked, and let out a bitter sound. "You don't have to tell me twice."

 


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it's been five years. i'm so sorry.

 

Dean knew he'd fucked up. He'd fallen for the old trick as easy as any sweet old lady on the street – why couldn't he have just let Sam…what? Slaughter what looked like a sobbing nine year old in cold blood?

He'd been stupid. What good were instincts and trusting in either other when Dean refused to pay attention to his instincts, or Sam's, or Cas'?

Sam had yet to speak to him, holed up in Bobby's house with their watchdog glaring dagger into the side of Dean's head. Castiel had remained silent on the matter but Dean could feel his anger, his frustration. It would have all been so simple, ending it before it had started. Dean could have said 'Yes', he could have let Sam kill Lilith and bam. No apocalypse. Nothing to worry about except small time hunts and things like whose name would be on the next credit card application.

Dean swallowed hard, looked up, wincing when Sam's jaw clenched before he'd even spoken. "Should wash your face," he said quietly, weakly, "'fore Bobby comes back."

Sam blinked down at his fist, his fingers red, as though shocked at what Dean had chosen to say but still willing himself not to react to him. "Okay," he said, equally quietly, before he threw himself to his feet and stalked upstairs, leaving Dean and Castiel alone in the room.

Dean looked at Castiel, finding the creature's eyes had at least faded back to the blue of his vessel. They weren't black like when his demon head was in charge, and they didn't glow with Grace either – earthly, guarded, steady, neither righteous nor wrathful. Castiel cocked his head to one side, anticipating, waiting for Dean to say something.

"The Angels had me," he said after what felt like forever. Castiel already knew this, of course – he'd been the one to bust him out, but the silence was driving him crazy and he needed to say something, _anything_ , even if it was meaningless words to drive back the waves of guilt lapping at the shores of Dean's psyche. "Wanted me to say 'Yes' to Michael. Pretty good torturers, when push comes to shove."

At that, the corner of Castiel's mouth quirked upwards, but the expression was bitter. "Where do you think Lucifer learned to teach?" he asked. Then, he sighed. "What you did today was stupid, Dean. Lilith is our target and now she's gone."

"The hounds will find her," Dean replied, full of conviction because he _had_ to be right now. There was no other alternative. "I know they will."

"Eventually, yes," Castiel conceded. "I hope, for your brother's sake, that it is not too late. Lilith will want him, alone and alive, to succumb to Lucifer in much the same way the Angels attempted to make you open yourself to Michael."

Dean waited, knowing what thinking out loud was when he saw it, but Castiel remained silent, his gaze fixed steadily on Dean's face.

"I don't know what you want me to say," he finally whispered.

Castiel blinked, the moment taking slightly too long, before he sighed and bowed his head. "Dean," he said, shifting in his place. He had perched himself on the window seat, legs crossed on the cushion, and now he turned, putting his feet flat on the ground, his knees pressed tight together. "I cannot think of a worse outcome of this than to lose you to Michael. But I also want you to know that I will follow you, no matter what you decide."

Dean frowned, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "I still don't know what you want me to say."

Castiel smiled, the expression said, and raised his head again. "Neither do I," he replied. "Perhaps it's better if neither one of us says anything for a while."

Dean swallowed, nodding to himself, and then lifted his head at the sound of Bobby's truck rumbling back up the drive. He let out an explosive breath, pushing himself to his feet and fleeing the room to meet the old man as he clambered down with a huff.

"God, Dean, what's gotten into you?" he asked, his narrowed eyes shrewdly looking Dean up and down.

"Lilith was here," Dean replied breathlessly, "and I got kidnapped by Angel dicks, and the whole place was surrounded by hounds, and -."

"Alright, boy, slow down," Bobby said, holding up a placating hand. "Now, I got beer'n'steaks in the passenger side, how's about you help me haul it all in, we start cookin', start drinking, and you and your knucklehead brother fill me in?"

 

* * *

 

 

Sam came down to the smell of steaks, and Dean tossed him a beer. Sam caught it, watching Dean for a moment with guarded eyes, before he took his normal seat on the other side of Dean at the small table in Bobby's kitchen.

Bobby grunted in greeting, before setting a plate in front of them both. "Don't forget to tip," he added with a roll of his eyes, before fixing his own meal and settling down between them. Sam ate as though he was ravenous – and he probably was, Jesus, when was the last time he'd eaten? When was the last time _Dean_ had eaten?

Castiel was not in the room but Dean could feel his presence, prowling around in Bobby's study on silent feet.

"Lilith was here," Sam said, finally breaking the silence after a few moment.

Bobby nodded. "So I've been told."

"Almost had her." At that, Sam's grip went tight around the beer can, the metal giving a weak crack of protest, and Sam let go before he could destroy it and make a mess all over the table. "Could'a done it."

Bobby nodded, not asking why, if it would have been so easy, the job hadn't been done. There was already a reason with Sam and Dean Winchester. Damn fools, the both of them. "So what's the next plan?"

"We find her." That was Castiel his voice hard and cutting through the conversation as he melted out of the shadows in the doorway to the kitchen. "I have my brothers looking everywhere for her. She won't make it far."

Dean sighed, and rubbed the top of his wrist into his eye without letting go of his knife. He was about to reply but fell silent at a sharp inhale from Sam. When he looked up, Sam's eyes were fixed on Castiel, narrowed, his nostrils flaring wide as he took another deep breath.

When he looked back at Castiel, the dog was meeting Sam's gaze, challenging, his jaw clenching at the corner. His eyes weren't black but that didn't have to mean anything – maybe Sam was pissed at him for threatening him, maybe he blamed Castiel for forcing Dean to stop Sam killing Lilith – whatever the reason, Sam looked about two seconds away from lunging at Castiel to rip his throat out.

He stood, blocking the two from each other's line of sight, and grabbed onto Castiel's arm. "Come here," he said, hauling Castiel away from the room and out towards the front door. The dog went willingly enough, content to let the challenge go unmet and follow Dean, not fighting his bruising grip.

Dean let him go when they were outside, spinning around to glare at him. Castiel met his stare evenly. "What the Hell was that all about?"

Castiel licked his lips, silent for a moment. He had never gotten the chance to tell Dean why Sam had been so sick, half-mad with demon blood withdrawals. Of course, he understood what was happening – it was the same as when he had spoken with Sam in the dungeon in the basement. Sam could sense Ruby inside of him, tainting his blood with whatever it was that made demons so addictive. Ruby had been mostly silent for the past few days, but he could still feel her, cowering in the corner of his stomach. He really should throw her back up and let his brothers devour her, the first chance he got.

He was tired of secrets. Dogs didn't have secrets – they had Alphas and pack leaders and their word went, no matter what. Castiel had never been a particularly deceptive creature – his demon side spoke its mind and his Angelic side did the same. Only the side born in purgatory that held communion with the earthly plain seemed to care for such things as tact and lies of omission.

But he did not want to lie to Dean. Not anymore.

"Ruby got Sam addicted to demon blood," he said, his voice flat. "She told him it would give him the power to kill demons, to smite Lilith, without harming the vessel."

Dean blinked at him, his mouth hanging open. Then he cleared his throat. "Can it?"

Castiel cocked his head to one side, eyes narrowing. "With practice."

"So…so all those times Sammy snuck out, when he was – when I was in _Hell_ …" There was the rage, the bared teeth, the anger flashing in Dean's beautiful eyes, "He was getting' cozy with some demon _bitch_ and -?"

He didn't finish the sentence. Neither of them needed to. Castiel gave a short, sharp nod.

Dean cleared his throat, swallowed, let out a breath through his teeth, swallowed again. He ran both hands through his hair and heaved his shoulders. "So what does that have to do with whatever the fuck was going on in there?"

Castiel shifted his weight, averting his eyes for the first time since their conversation had started. "I may have…had a word with the demon myself," he explained slowly. Dean's gaze told him to hold nothing back: no secrets, and Castiel obeyed his master because there was nothing else he could do. "I tortured her for information on Lilith, and when I ran out of time I consumed her so that I would always know where she was and know that she would be unable to seduce Sam again."

Dean blinked at him. Castiel could see the wheels turning in his head. "So you knew," he growled, dropping his hands. "You knew what was going on with Sam the whole time."

Castiel nodded. "Are you angry with me, Dean?"

"Pretty fuckin' pissed, yeah."

Castiel bit his lip, fighting the urge to show his throat and failing. It was a small gesture, dipping his chin and looking away, but he could feel how Dean instinctively settled, anger no longer bubbling so close to his skin.

"You asked me to trust you, Cas," Dean bit out, his words little more than a growl. "I fucking -."

He turned away, slamming his fist against Bobby's truck with a frustrated yell. His fingers flexed, red from the blow, but he didn't even seem to register the pain. " _Fuck_ ," he hissed again, glaring down at his silhouette for a long moment, silent and still. Castiel remained stationary also, unwilling to incite more anger in his master by making a noise and throwing Dean's attention back his way.

"If…If Sam can kill Lilith, then it's our job to get him to her," Dean said, so quietly that Castiel knew he was not being addressed directly. Still, his sharp hearing picked up every word; "And if we wait too long, then it's exactly what she's gonna want."

He turned back to face Castiel. "If you were gonna raise the Devil, where would you go?" he asked.

Castiel blinked at him, his eyes turning black for a moment as he allowed his demon side to come to the front of his psyche. "There is a church," he said slowly, "in Maryland. It is where Azazel first received Lucifer's instructions. Demons are a…symbolic bunch." A smirk crossed over his face.

"Then she'll go there. Eventually."

"Only when it is too late for us to stop her otherwise."

"Is it possible to keep her away? Guard it? If you get the hounds around it and they catch her scent…" Dean paused, his eyes darting away as he thought some more. "It… _has_ to be Sam that kills her, doesn't it?"

"For motif's sake, I suppose," Castiel replied after a moment. "Lilith need only die, but I know Lucifer and his demons would _much_ prefer Sam be the one to do it. It's more poetic that way." He lifted his eyes to the sky for a while, sighing heavily. "I have my brothers searching for her. It should not take them long to locate her."

Dean nodded. "Then we're gonna kill her," he said, stepping forward. "I don't care how, just as long as it isn't in that church."

"I understand." The black was fading from Castiel's eyes, replaced by the sincere, earnest blue that Dean much preferred, even though he knew those eyes technically didn't belong to Castiel. "I vowed to follow you anywhere, Dean. Even if you don't trust me, you must trust my obedience."

Dean's mouth twisted. "We'll see," he said. "If anything happens to Sammy I don't know what I'm going to do to you."

Castiel's eyes flashed, and for a brief moment Dean was reminded of Hell – of when he'd fallen, of hearing screams on the rack. They were things that horrified him now, but down there he'd been free to feel, to enjoy, relishing the scent of blood and the knowledge that he could do whatever he wanted and no one was going to do a damn thing to stop him.

"I'm sure you will think of something," Castiel said quietly, his eyes flitting down again.

"And kill Ruby. I don't care how you do it. I want her dead and gone."

Castiel nodded again, rubbing his hand through his hair, down the side of his neck. It was such a submissive, awkward gesture that Dean was momentarily taken aback.

Maybe Castiel could smell the Hell on him, too, and knew his master when he saw it.

"You gonna do as I say?" Dean demanded.

"Of course."

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel waited for Dean to go back inside before he whistled lowly, summoning the one brother that had stayed behind when Castiel had given the order to hunt Lilith down at all costs. The dog was huge, yellow-eyed, rotted teeth bared at Castiel even though it wasn't going any real posturing.

He disposed of Ruby without ceremony, thrusting his fingers down his throat until he gagged, falling to his knees, and choked on the smoke of her soul fleeing out of his mouth. As though if she moved fast enough the hound would not find her.

But the hound had come forward, sniffing at Castiel's mouth, licking at his lips as a subservient animal would lick its Alpha, and devoured her as soon as Castiel had released her from his vessel. He watched with a particular kind of glee as she was eaten, torn to shreds in front of his very eyes.

Normally, he would not have watched, but Dean had told him to be sure, to do it right, and Castiel was determined to do that.

He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, grimacing at the slick black stain it found there. He stood up, spitting out black saliva and watched with distaste as the hound licked that up as well, apparently content with whatever scraps Castiel threw its way.

When it was done, when he could no longer sense her soul anymore, Castiel knelt down and took the dog's face in his hands. It growled at him, back end crouching as though it intended to lunge for Castiel's throat, but Castiel held its head tightly.

"You have her scent," he said to it, watching the yellow, intelligent fire in its eyes to be sure he was understood. "Stand guard in Ilchester, and if you see Lilith, howl for me, but do not attack."

The hound snarled again, unhappy with those orders, and Castiel's bruising grip on its muzzle tightened. "Do _not_ attack her," he repeated, his eyes black. Finally the hound blinked, its overly-large fangs clacking together, and Castiel released it and stood. He watched the beast lope away, disappearing between the skeletons of cars stacked high in the salvage yard, and heaved another breath.

 

 

It had been a long time since Castiel had begun to question things like faith and the Plan – of course, he didn't question it because he didn't believe it was real, but there was something to be said for his involvement in all of this. If Dean had never come to Hell, Castiel would have never have met him. He would have never hauled Dean out of Hell by the nape of his neck, would never have fallen into such ardent loyalty and love with the man whom he'd sworn to serve. He would not have cared about saving Sam's life, about keeping him clean and pure. He would not have cared if Dean had come to him, crawling on his hands and knees, and begged for his help.

What would he be doing? Standing guard, probably, as he had done for aeons, before humanity had even discovered monotheism. Angels had existed before people knew about them, as did God, he imagined. Would God approve of his choices?

God had always loved free will – it had been his favorite invention, so cherished that he had placed it far away from his other children and left it on earth, which had been untouched until he placed people upon it. Free Will. Not instinct, not something dumb and base that even a cockroach was born with, but something learned and breakable and, sometimes, solid as iron.

If God did not approve of the path he was taking, helping the Winchesters and stopping the apocalypse, there would have been a sign. There had been setbacks, of course, but nothing that had made Castiel feel as though God was actively fighting them. They were just playing with bigger players than usual, things that knew the lay of the land and all the best places to hide and ambush them.

Castiel closed his eyes, sighing heavily, his arms wrapped around his shins, the sunlight warm on his back. From his perch on the roof he could see everything, and with his sharp senses he could hear the Winchesters and Bobby milling around inside, talking about nothing at all to fill the desperate silence. They all hated waiting. Of course they did. Soldiers always hated waiting.

 

* * *

 

 

"We should be out there."

Like clockwork. Every four minutes. Only this time Dean was losing his patience.

"I'd rather have Hellhounds doing our digging for us than risk our necks out there ourselves."

Sam paused, and Dean could feel his disbelieving glare on his back. "That's _bullshit_ , Dean!" he snapped. "You hate being held back from the action."

"Yeah, well, maybe I think it's a good idea this time," Dean replied, just as shortly. He turned around to glare at Sam who meat his gaze with just as much irritation and anger. "You're all juiced up and ready to go, I get it, but we gotta time this shit right, Sammy. I don't want to think everything's going well and it turns out we were playing right into her hand all along."

"You know we are," Sam replied with a growl. "Us, sittin' here, with our thumbs up our asses, that's exactly what she wants! So she can go around breaking seals like it's goin' outta fuckin' style -."

"Cas will hunt her down," Dean said, with more conviction than he felt.

Sam grunted. "Yeah, sure. _He's_ the trustworthy one."

"I know he's gonna do exactly what I say when I say it."

" _When_ , Dean? When _exactly_ has he actually done that?" Sam demanded, his fingers curling into fists against the arm of his chair. "All he's done is fill our heads with stories and secrets and we just take it on his word because he dragged you outta Hell. Fuck, Dean, _Lucifer_ could'a dragged you outta Hell and you wouldn't have batted an eye."

"I remember him," Dean said, turning around and fully facing Sam now. "And he ain't the one who decided fuckin' and suckin' a demon was the best way to spend his time without big brother around to tell him what to do!"

Sam's eyes widened, hurt and anger turning them dark. "I was doing what I had to," he hissed. "I…I believed her, okay? I did. Because I wanted to. Even when the little voice in my head was telling me not to, I believed Ruby, because I had no reason not to. But it was a mistake." He took a deep breath through his nose, licking his top teeth before he let it out. "I'm just trying to stop you makin' the same mistake I did."

Dean didn't reply.

"I just -."

"Hold up, Sammy," Dean said, raising a hand to stay Sam's words. Sam made an annoyed noise, but then they both heard it:

A howl.


End file.
